


Angeline Oscar Portur; or, the Muggle Who Went to Hogwarts

by sbdrag



Series: The Angeline Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Magical Artifacts, dragon - Freeform, oc fic, there's a magic ring okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbdrag/pseuds/sbdrag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being left with her great-aunt, Angeline has become more pretentious than a 13 year old has a right to be. Good thing her brother, Rochester, has enough mischief for the both of them. There's only one problem; see, she's a muggle, and he's a dragon. What will happen when her wizard aunt, uncle and cousin come to visit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Angeline Finds and Egg and Hatches it

Angeline Oscar Portur was born a happy accident.

Her parents, Mark and Jessica Portur, were an archeological team. Travelling the world to find the best dig sites and most exotic locales. So, when it was discovered that Jessica was pregnant they were… less than thrilled.

So, when the child was born, she was swiftly deposited into the care of her Great Great Aunt Marinthana. Her parents continued their whirlwind adventures across the globe, sending back cards and presents for holidays and her birthday. Though the latter was usually sent as an afterthought, and mostly on the wrong date. As such, Angeline grew up with little thought for her parents.

Now, Marinthana Greyheart was a kind soul. She treated Angeline as the daughter she never had, doing her best to provide for her. But, at the ripe age of 86, she was in no condition to raise a young child on her own. In fact, she was mostly bedridden. For that such a time, her house, a tall and narrow gothic contraption, had fallen into partial decay, and the grounds were overrun with weeds. Though she tried her best to look out for Angeline, holding informal school through what books she owned and a tutor, she simply did not have the strength to truly raise the girl. In this manner, Angeline also grew up learning to take care of herself.

Angeline was in no way unhappy with her life. In fact, she was actually quite satisfied. Unlike her gypsy-souled parents, Angeline enjoyed having a quaint home to herself. She began living by routine; not only seeing to her own needs, but her aunt’s as well. At the tender age of five, she took it upon herself to explore every inch of her house. She found her favorite room to be the attic.

Unlike other children her age, Angeline held no penchant for playing pretend. She was Angeline Oscar Portur, and she liked that quite well. She did, however, fancy older clothing and jewelry. Both of which she found in abundance in the attic.

As the attic was at times unstable, Angeline began moving the boxes to her room. This was no small feat, and often ended with each box being spilled and refilled for each set of stairs. Excepting an ornate, bright silver jewelry box, which Angeline could carry just fine on her own. This task being done, and all the boxes neatly scattered about her room, Angeline began exploring their contents in earnest.

The clothing were approximately Victorian Era, and came in all sizes for all ages. Being something of a rail, Angeline found she could easily slip into anything she chose (though more often than not, it was too large for her). And thus, her wardrobe was formed from the surprising well kempt clothing of her ancestors.

The jewelry Angeline favored were more simple than not. However, most of the jewelry contained in the silver box was rather ostentatious, and too heavy for a girl her age. There was one ring, however, that did strike her fancy.

It was silver, with a black pearl held by a dragon. By all means too big for her, Angeline none the less slipped it on her thumb when she discovered it. She smiled as she looked at it, and despite the fact that there was still room between her finger and the band, the ring never seemed to fall out of place. Almost like magic.

But of course, Angeline did not believe in magic.

No, Angeline held a firm resolve that magic was not real. Most likely due to her aunt’s tutelage; Marinthana would read to her niece as she sat patiently on the side of her bed, hands in her lap. The stories she read to her niece varied, but Marinthana was not one for illusionment and told Angeline quite frankly that magic did not exist. And Angeline accepted this readily.

It was probably for the best that the subject of dragons had never been breached.

At the age of seven, Angeline was a very active child. She would clean the house, look after her aunt, read and then explore the woods surrounding her. She canvassed the land in her mind’s eye, learning all the trails and hideaways. She did not engage in fantasized quests and misadventures. Rather, she sought the natural treasures around her, reveling in the real and present.

She collected flowers, pulling various vases from the attic in which to house impromptu bouquets as her aunt instructed. She learned to braid wreathes, often adding colorful plumage and berries to them as she saw fit. These also began decorating the house, varying with the season. Her aunt also taught Angeline to press flowers. This was reserved for only the most beautiful of flora the young girl discovered.

So, with such treasures as these, in addition to various other objects, it should come as no surprise that Angeline would take an interest in a relatively large stone she discovered in the underbrush. She found it curious, as she had never seen its like, and swiftly held it in her thin arms. She held it at arm’s length, appraising it.

“Crrl.”

Angeline jumped at the noise, pulling the stone to her chest and casting nervous glances around. She had seen glimpses of animals before, and it worried her that one may be near. However, seeing none, she turned her attention to the stone. Frowning, she put her ear to the stone and listened.

It was faint, but she pressed closer to hear a dull thumping. Like a drum, or… a heartbeat. She held the stone out again and licked her lips, feeling somewhat silly.

“Hello, are you… an egg?” she asked. Though for the most part unaccented, Angeline’s voice held some of the cultured timbre of her aunt’s very mild British lilt.

“Chirrp,” the egg, for now she was quite certain it was an egg, replied. It wasn’t exactly the most informative response, but Angeline felt it answered her question nonetheless. Holding the egg to her chest again, Angeline awkwardly climbed over the forest floor to wend her way home.

Over the next couple weeks, Angeline began caring for the egg. She mostly went by instinct, doing what felt most right. Sometimes she could have sworn it was the egg giving her ideas, but that, of course, was preposterous.

At least, she thought as such before it hatched.

It started in the midmorning, while Angeline was cleaning. A slight creaking and rocking. Angeline had paused, and proceed to watch as the creaking grew and volume, and the rocking became shaking. Climbing unto the table, she sat crossed legged, watching for what felt like hours as the shell cracked and split, until falling apart all together.

The occupant of the egg blinked up at her; he was the size of a smaller dog, but covered in dull, dark scales. There looked to be something smooth on his back, and bright purple eyes shone in the light from the window. He, as Angeline felt very strongly that he was, in fact, a he, took a step towards her.

“Hello,” he said. Angeline blinked.

“Hello,” she said. And with that he crawled into her lap, leaving little scratches with his baby claws.

The boy was bestowed with the name Rochester Charlotte Greyheart. Angeline proclaimed him her brother, and her days now including caring for him as well as Aunt Marinthana. She taught Rochester as she learned, and he took to following her around the house until he grew too big for such activities. At that time, he moved to taking care of himself in the woods, learning all he needed by instinct. Angeline frequented the woods as she always had, and the two took to lengthy discussions of their favorite subjects, those which Aunt Marinthana simply did not have the energy to carry on.

Sometimes, they found themselves at odds with the other’s opinion. However, no matter how heated their conversations became, they never had an altercation. They had come to a middle ground of agreeing to disagree at an early point in their relationship, due in part to the way they were both still learning.

After some six years, Angeline did not find it strange in the least that her brother had grown fifteen feet long, nor that in comparison she had only reached five foot three. Nor did it occur to her to wonder after the fact that she could speak with him, as it had always been that way and she had not learned anything contrary to the situation.

To be quite frank, Angeline very much enjoyed the quiet life she lead with her aunt. She found simple pleasure in caring for her aunt, their home, and exploring and speaking with her brother. One might even say she could conceive of no better way to live, and wished only to be this content for the rest of her life.

However, it would seem the universe had different plans for the lanky, befreckled thirteen year old with the sun streaked brown hair.

It came in the form of the Greyheart family.


	2. In which Angelin has an older cousin and learns magic is more real than she thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corbin discovers Rochester.

“’Ello, you must be Angie,” a rather portly man said with a pronounced British accent, smiling as Angeline opened the door.

“Angeline,” the girl said. “And who are you?”

“Tch, what a brat,” someone said. “Ow!”

“Mind your manners, Corbin,” a woman said. “It was gracious of Aunt Marie to invite us here for the summer.”

Angeline looked around the stout man in the doorway to see the others. One was a petite, regal looking woman who smiled kindly - and yet a tad condescendingly - at Angeline, her black hair pulled into a severe braid. Next to her stood a boy who was tall and lean, a scowl contorting his otherwise handsome face. His hair, the same jet as his mother’s, hung in his eyes as he glared at Angeline.

Not once during her examination did Angeline’s face shift from apathy.

“My name is Dorian Greyheart,” the man said, causing his chins to wobble. “This is my wife, Geniveve, and our son, Corbin. Did Aunt Marie not mention we were coming to stay?”

“I dare say she did not,” Angeline said. “Please, wait here.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Greyheart said. Angeline closed the door before him, then turned and walked up the uneven steps, across the narrow hallway, up a second flight of spiral steps, and into her aunt’s room.

“Aunt Marinthana,” Angeline said. The old woman sniffed, then shifted to look at her niece.

“Yes, dear?” she asked, smiling.

“Is there anyone coming to stay with us?” Angeline asked. Aunt Marinthana looked confused for only a moment before she sighed, putting a hand to her head.

“I am sorry dear, it slipped away from me,” she said. “Your cousins, Dorian, and his family, are coming to stay with us, yes. I take it they have arrived?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angeline said. “Shall I show them to the guest rooms?”

“Yes dear, that would be wonderful,” Aunt Marinthana said. Angeline nodded, giving a small curtsey before turning out of the room. She walked back down the two flights of stairs, then fully opened the door. The Greyhearts turned towards her expectantly. She curtseyed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Greyheart,” she said. “Please follow me.”

It did not take long for the Greyhearts to settle in. Mister and Missus Greyheart wondered after the state of the house, as well as the health of Aunt Marinthana. Mrs. Greyheart marveled at Angeline’s self sufficiency and pretty manners, insisting upon taking over the cooking and cleaning duties. She spoke with the boy who delivered groceries every week, changing the order to what supplies she needed to cook formal meals for everyone. Angeline resisted, attempting to retain what chores she had become accustomed to, but Mrs. Greyheart would have none of it, telling the girl to consider it a vacation and to enjoy the summer outside. Eventually, Angeline relented, finding she did enjoy being able to talk and explore with Rochester longer than she had before, as well as more time to read with Aunt Marinthana.

Mr. Greyheart, on the other hand, took it upon himself to begin repairing the house as best he knew how. For his girth, he did surprisingly good work. Every evening that Angeline returned from gallivanting in the woods, the house looked better and better.

It was her cousin, Roger Corbin Greyheart that was the trouble.

The boy was five years her senior, and it appeared he viewed his time at Aunt Marinthana’s house as a punishment. For the first week or so, he remained brooding in his room, refusing to come down even for meals. Angeline viewed this as folly, but when he began emerging from him room, she began to wish he hadn’t.

He spent his time finding things to complain about; the lack of technology, the heat, how old the house was, the way the place smelled, and so on. At first, his complaints were contained to when Angeline was present in the house, which was not fairly often. He also seemed to take a perverse interest in his cousin; wondering around her room, asking how she managed to live out in the middle of nowhere without any friends or anything to do. To which she replied promptly.

“I have everything I need here; now if you please, I must ask you to kindly allow me to finish… brushing my hair.”

“Your hair’s in a braid.”

“I know.”

Not too long after that conversation, Corbin began following Angeline into the woods. He continued asking questions, about what she did out there, if she’s seen wolves, if she knew how to hunt, how she could stand being somewhere so dull. Usually, Angeline was able to subtly loose her cousin, by taking less clear paths and climbing trees until he passed. She voiced her frustrations at the situation to Rochester as they escaladed.

“He simply refuses to accept that someone could be happy reading and journeying through the woods,” she said, leaning against Rochester’s side. Her brother snorted.

“He sounds like he is one who could never be happy no matter how much he had,” he said. Angeline sighed.

“I do not know about that; he’s simply exhausting to deal with,” she said. “And he keeps asking me why I wear this ‘old garbage’, and why I speak strangely, and just one thing after another. It is driving me absolutely batty!”

“I would rather like to meet this Corbin,” Rochester said, stretching his neck out lazily. “He sounds good for you.”

“Good for me? In what manner is he good for me?” Angeline asked.

“He teaches you patience,” Rochester said. Angeline snorted.

“I highly doubt that,” she said. Rochester would have smiled, had his maw been made for it. As it were, the discussion was brought to an abrupt close.

“Bloody hell!” Rochester’s and Angeline’s heads snapped in the direction of the exclamation. Corbin stood on higher ground, looking down at them with a face of horror.

“Is that him?” Rochester asked.

“Yes,” Angeline said, half jumping to her feet. She wasn’t entirely certain what bothered her, but the way Corbin pulled something out of his pocket made her nervous.

“G-get away from that thing!” he yelled, pointing the object at Rochester. Angeline squinted, then scoffed.

“That thing is my brother,” she said, crossing her arms. “And it is generally considered rude to point, even with sticks.”

“What in the blazes are you talking about? That thing is a… a bloody dragon!” Corbin said, stabbing the air with his short, thin stick. Angeline sighed.

“Will you please put that stick away? Have you deluded yourself into thinking it is a wand or something?” she asked. Corbin gave his cousin one of the most disbelieving looks the girl could ever recall having seen. It did, at least, cause him to still.

“De… deluded myself?” he sputtered. “It is a wand.”

“That is preposterous,” Angeline said. “Magic isn’t real.”

“Are you effing kidding me?” Corbin said, slowly lowering his wand as he stared at the thirteen year old. “You have a bloody dragon standing behind you, and you doubt the existence of magic?”

“I do not doubt that magic exists,” Angeline said, letting her arms drop as she strode towards her cousin. “It is not real.”

“Bloody hell, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Corbin asked, letting his arm finally drop as Angeline stood before him, crossing her arms again.

“She’s never anything but, I assure you,” Rochester said, and Angeline felt it was answer enough. After a few minutes of silence, Corbin sighed and turned around, putting his wand away as he retreated. And that, Angeline had assumed, was the end of that.

Until Corbin returned approximately half an hour later with his father.

“Incarcerous!” Mr. Greyheart yelled. Ropes appeared out of thin air to wrap around Rochester, binding him. The dragon, in response, stared.

“I am not amused,” he said. Angeline stood.

“Nor am I,” she said. She turned to glare icily up the ridge. “Mr. Greyheart, what foolery is this?”

“Foolery?” Mr. Greyheart asked, keeping his wand trained on Rochester. He was bug eyed, and had turned red, rather resembling a tomato. Corbin, standing next to him, snorted and rolled his eyes. “Child, step away from there, it’s dangerous!”

“Dangerous? Preposterous,” Angeline said. Corbin stepped around to look at his father.

“I told you, Da, she thinks of the bugger as her brother,” he said. Mr. Greyheart frowned.

“What the devil are you on about?” he asked. “That beast is-“

“This,” Angeline said, walking crisply up to them. “Is my brother, Rochester. And I would appreciate if you were to end this… this trick you are using against him.”

“Trick? Dear girl, I assure you this is no trick,” Mr. Greyheart said. Angeline snorted.

“Are you honestly trying insinuate that this is magic?” she asked, waving her hand in the direction of Rochester. Mr. Greyheart blinked at her, then looked to his son.

“Is she serious?” he asked. Angeline stopped before them, crossing her arms in what was becoming a familiar gesture of annoyance.

“As the plague,” she said.

“As serious as you are, I really do not think this is a trick, sister,” Rochester said. Angeline whirled on him.

“What do you mean? This cannot possibly be real,” she said.

“It feels real enough,” Rochester said. “Come, have a feel for yourself.”

“Preposterous,” Angeline said, walking back down the slope. She wrapped a hand around a rope circling Rochester’s snout. She gave it a tug. When that failed to change anything, she tugged harder, then grabbed the rope with both hands, pulling.

“My God…” Mr. Greyheart said, wand arm falling. Angeline ceased her struggle, turning to glare up at him and her equally boggle eyed cousin.

“Sir, I must insist that you release my brother at once,” she said. Mr. Greyheart simply stared. Angeline sighed in exasperation. “Mr. Greyheart.”

 

“Oh… yes… yes, yes certainly,” he said. With a wave of his wand, the spell was broken. Mr. Greyheart and Corbin flinched when Rochester stood, but settled when the dragon merely shifted positions.

“Thank you, that was extremely uncomfortable,” Rochester said.

“Not to mention rude,” Angeline said. Mr. Grey heart’s legs failed him then, and he collapsed to the ground with a dull thump.

“You… you can talk to dragons,” he said in awe. Angeline blinked, then looked from Mr. Greyheart’s face to Corbin’s and back again, her pretentious sneer dropping as she did.

“What?” she asked. “You cannot?”


	3. In which Angeline learns the meaning of the word squib

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions decisions...

Angeline sat on a chair set against the wall in the foyer, letting her crossed legs swing back and forth idly.

If the ropes had not convinced Angeline that magic did, indeed, exist, the plethora of people entering her Aunt’s home through the fireplace certainly did. After Mr. Greyheart had composed himself, he had insisted that they all return to the house, Rochester included. He then explained the situation to Mrs. Greyheart, whom then decided they needed to contact ‘The Ministry’. Which they had done… through the fireplace. At this point, Angeline had still entertained the thought that magic was preposterous and that the Greyhearts had all gone mad. But then the first of guests had arrived.

The first was a woman by the name of Zavanna Kimberlyn. She was rather petite, wearing a short pink and brown plaid blazer over a pink shirt with ruffles down the front, a dark brown skirt with even darker brown hose, high pink heels and a matching briefcase. Auburn curls pulled into a sloppy bun, her rather grim smile alluded to her determination. She said she was sent from the Office of Muggle Affairs, there to make sure everything ran smoothly and all was processed properly. She had started speaking with Angeline, gathering all the facts of the situation she could.

Angeline had rather liked Ms. Kimberlyn. Possibly because, unlike her relatives, the moment the woman recognized the girl’s intelligence, had treated her as an equal as opposed to a child. However, once Ms. Kimberlyn had garnered the whole story of Angeline and Rochester, the second guest had arrived.

A rather tall and lanky fellow by the name of Jess Bart walked out of the fireplace coughing and waving away what smoke there was. He had a gaunt face, and his complexion was rather sallow. He claimed to be a charms expert, there to wipe clean Angeline’s memory. However, Ms. Kimberlyn had pulled him aside upon his arrival, and they had begun discussing Angeline, the girl was sure of it. Ms. Kimberlyn had said something about ‘too much time’, but it had not been long before the next guest had arrived.

Dominique Cyril was a man of average build, with a very plain face and a drab black suit and red bowtie. He said he was from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, there to determine what was to be done with the dragon in question. Angeline had initially surge to her feet at the possibility of being separated from her brother, but Ms. Kimberlyn had calmly asked the girl to let her handel the situation. Angeline had acquiesced, reclaiming her seat. But it was then M. Cyril had caught sight of the girl’s ring.

Without further ado he had examined the object, then asked Angeline to try and remove it. When she could not, M. Cyril declared it to be an ‘objet de magique’, which caused the three to then call for another person.

The next guest to arrive was not the man sent for, but a man named Timothy Tobin. He had smiled cheerily at those gathered, apologizing and saying he had arrived as fast as he could. He said he was something called an Auror, and had come to clear up the confusion on how the dragon, a Hebridean Black, had come to live so far from his natural home.

He claimed he had been tracing a smuggling ring, and had chased one of the men down around here, and it was possible that the smuggler had dropped the egg while being pursued. Though Angeline had to admit the man was rather roguishly handsome, she was rather perturbed by the way he smiled and ran a hand through his fiery red hair as he described the smuggler’s quite gruesome end.

Then the man sent for, a chap by the name of Erskine Selwyn had arrived. An expert in magical artifacts. He had examined the ring for hours, chanting over it and twisting it around Angeline’s finger as he tried to discern its nature. After such a time, he gave up, and instead called for a greater expert than he.

The second man sent for, one Mr. Satchel Riley, arrived nearly an hour later. A bent, deeply wrinkled and emaciated old man, he used a silver snake topped black cane to hobble over to Angeline. His eyes were lost behind heinously bushy brows, and while not a single hair sprouted from his head he had a long silvered gray beard which near reached the ground. After holding Angeline’s hand in his, with skin which felt like paper, and staring at the ring intensely for several minutes, Mr. Riley had cackled. Saying something along the lines of ‘of course the cheeky thing would pick a muggle’, he went on to explain the ring was a high class magical artifact, an heirloom of the Greyheart family. And that it had picked Angeline to be its owner, giving her the ability to speak to dragons.

And also that it was not going anywhere.

Thus, we arrived at the present moment, in which Angeline sat idly as the seven guests began a heady discussion, including Mr. and Mrs. Greyheart in their plans. The group sat in the kitchen, while Angeline and Corbin stayed in the foyer, children not yet old enough to participate. After some time, Angeline sighed and stood.

“Where are you going?” Corbin asked, jumping to his feet.

“To speak with Aunt Marinthana; you may accompany me if you wish,” Angeline said, breezing past him to reach the stairs. Putting his hands in his pockets, Corbin trailed behind her as she took the first and second flights of stairs, hanging back as she entered Aunt Marinthana’s room. ‘

Angeline strode over, settling herself on the edge of the bed. Aunt Marinthana gave her a measured look.

“I hear you’ve discovered my ruse, my dear,” she said, smiling apologetically. Angeline sighed, taking her aunt’s hand in both of hers.

“Why?” she asked, without malice or hurt. Aunt Marinthana sighed a tinge regretfully.

“Well, you see dear, I’m what is known as a squib. That means that my parents had magic, but I do not,” she said. “And you are a muggle. That means you have no magic. And muggles are not allowed to know that magic is real.”

“I understand,” Angeline said. Corbin moved to lean on the doorframe, looking somewhat out of place.

“So tell me about this dragon of yours, dear,” Aunt Marinthana said. “I hear he is very special to you.”

“He is my brother,” Angeline said reverently, and her aunt smiled. “His name is Rochester Charlotte Greyheart, and we have been together since I was seven.” Here the girl’s lips tremored, and her eyes moistened. “You… you will not let them separate us, will you?”

“My dear Angeline,” Aunt Marinthana said, reaching to stroke the girl’s hair in a comforting gesture. Angeline sniffled as her aunt cupped her face. “Tell me who is here child, and I will see what I can do.”

“Well, there is a Ms. Kimberlyn, a Mr. Bart, M. Cyril, Mr. Riley-“

“Would that be Satchel Riley, dear?” Marinthana asked. Angeline nodded, and the old woman smiled. “That old rascal. My dear, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“I… I do not?” Angeline asked. Marinthana shook her head.

“Satchel Riley has been my dear friend for years, my dear. Angeline, he will do right by me,” she said. Angeline’s face stilled as her mind processed this information. Then, breaking out in a wide grin, she flung herself forward to hug her aunt tightly. Marinthana laughed, and it seemed all was well.

And, when Angeline and her cousin returned to the ground floor, it appeared that this was the truth.

“Miss Portur,” Mr. Riley said as Angeline returned. He was speaking with a woman, whom turned as the girl was addressed. “I would like you to meet Headmistress McGonagall.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Angeline said, giving a small curtsey as she looked over the woman. She was an older woman, with black hair pulled back into a bun and wearing a dress of green tartan plaids. Her stern mouth was straight as an arrow, and her square framed glasses perched at the end of her nose.

“Headmistress,” Corbin said, bowing his head and looking away.

“Mr. Greyheart, I trust you have stayed out of trouble so far this summer?” McGonagall asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Corbin said. Angeline allowed her hand to fold in front of her, glancing at her cousin as she had never seen him so cowed.

“Miss Portur,” Angeline’s head snapped back to the headmistress. McGonagall swept her hand to indicate the door, taking a few steps forward. “Might I have a word?”

“Of course, Headmistress,” Angeline said, allowing herself to herded outside. Once the door was shut behind them, Headmistress McGonagall turned to look down at the young girl.

“Miss Portur, I have something very serious to discuss with you,” she said. Angeline bit her lip.

“Does it involve my brother? If so, then, and pardon me, I do believe he should be present,” she said. The corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitched, and she nodded.

“Of course,” the Headmistress said, following as Angeline led her around the house to where Rochester was lounging in the back.

“Finally! So, what happened? What has been decided?” the dragon asked, causing the Headmistress to flinch as he surged to his feet. Angeline sighed, walking right up to put a hand on his side. She looked to McGonagall.

“I was just about to find out,” she said. The Headmistress looked at them both, then watched Angeline as she composed herself.

“I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she said. “And I am here to make you an offer. You can choose to attend Hogwarts School, being the only non magical student, tested on theory rather than practice, with your brother living nearby in the Forbidden Forest… granted he minds his manners.”

“I always mind my manners, ma’am,” Rochester said, sitting down with a wry twinkle in his purple eyes.

“He says he always minds his manners,” Angeline said, rolling her eyes. The corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitched again, but she continued.

“So I see. Well, that is your first choice. Your second choice is to have all memory of your brother erased, and to continue living with your Aunt here,” the Headmistress said. “But be warned, if you choose to attend my school, it will not be easy for you. While we do our best to discourage it, there is still discrimination against muggles, and the courses in practice are hard enough without having only to learn theory. But the choice, of course, is yours.”

“I will never choose to forget my brother,” Angeline said instantly, wrapping her arms around Rochester’s neck. The dragon purred, touched.

“Aw, Angie,” he said, twisting to nuzzle his head against her.

“I told you not to call me that,” Angeline said, but she smiled in spite of herself. And, when she looked back at McGonagall, the Headmistress was smiling as well.

“I was rather hoping you’d say that, Miss Portur,” she said.


	4. In Which Angeline Travels to Diagon Alley and Meets an Owl

“Good morning Miss Portur! How did you sleep?” Ms. Kimberlyn asked as she burst into the guest bedroom of the Greyheart home. At the conclusion of the summer, Angeline had traveled to England with her relatives. She was not worried for her aunt, as Mr. Riley had slowly inserted himself and his handful of household staff into Marinthana’s home. She knew her aunt was in capable hands. As for Rochester, he had been moved by magical means, already upon the grounds of Hogwarts.

“Wretchedly,” Angeline answered as she finished buttoning her shirt. She had chosen a riding outfit today, for the mobility of pants. There were light circles under her eyes, and her braid was a tad sloppier than usual. “I do not understand how anyone could sleep with this much noise.”

“Ah, well, you get used to it,” Ms. Kimberlyn said, smiling brightly. Angeline sighed, crossing her arms as she faced the Ministry agent.

“So, why are you here?” she asked. Ms. Kimberlyn chuckled.

“We have to go shopping for your school supplies,” she said. “The Greyhearts have offered to cover the cost-“

“No need,” Angeline said, pulling a note from her pocket and holding it up. “Aunt Marinthana gave me this note, saying I have full access to her account at Gringotts.”

“Oh, my, how absolutely splendid!” Ms. Kimberlyn said. She turned, offering Angeline her arm. “Well, then, shall we be off?”

 

“This is a wall,” Angeline said. Ms. Kimberlyn chuckled.

“Indeed ‘tis,” she said. She then proceeded to pull out her wand, the longest Angeline had seen by far, and tapped one of the stones on the wall three times. With a creaking sound, the wall pulled back like a curtain. Angeline stared, wide eyed at the scene beyond.

There was a bustling market place, full of people in all forms of dress. There were stores she had never heard of, items that couldn’t possibly be real and yet… there they were. Angeline turned her head as Ms. Kimberlyn stepped in front of her, holding out a hand.

“After you,” she said, smiling as Angeline snorted. The girl breezed past her, though her step slowed as she and Ms. Kimberlyn joined the crowd, wall closing behind them. “First stop, Gringotts.”

They made their way through the crowd, Angeline staying close to her guardian. The girl had never seen so many people in the entirety of her thirteen years, and, although her pride would not allow her to admit it, she was rather intimidated. Ms. Kimberlyn, being the remarkably perceptive woman she was, made no comment as the girl gingerly took her hand. However, as they crossed into Gringotts, the hand was dropped.

Angeline glanced around her as Ms. Kimberlyn strode done the walkway. The girl’s face was blank as she looked over the goblins pouring over their work, a skeptical brow the only indication of her disbelief. When they reached the high desk at the far end, Angeline’s gaze travelled to the goblin sitting there.

“We’d like to access the vault of Marinthana Corinne Greyheart,” Ms. Kimberlyn said. “Angeline, your note, please.”

Angeline handed Ms. Kimberlyn the note, watching as she handed it to a goblin, who in turn took it to the goblin behind the desk. He read it with a sneer. He then turned.

“Vault 894,” he said, and Ms. Kimberlyn briskly followed another goblin, Angeline a step behind. Walking through a back door, they stepped up to a trolley, which glided much faster than Angeline felt it had a right to.

“Vault 894,” the goblin said, placing two fingers on the door. Angeline scoffed, but the door opened a moment later. The girl blinked at it, then frowned as she followed behind Ms. Kimberlyn. When she entered the room, however, she gasped.

There were too many galleons to count, alongside treasured artifacts of gold and silver. There was a long mirror in one corner, and even a crystal chandelier hanging from the stone ceiling.

“Did your aunt ever mention what business she was a part of?” Ms. Kimberlyn asked, looking quite amazed herself. Angeline shook her head.

“I was not aware she had one,” she said, slowly examining the shelves of the room. Then she started. “Oh, but she gave me a list.”

“A list?” Ms. Kimberlyn asked, turning. Angeline nodded, digging said list from her pocket.

“She said they were items which I would find useful,” she said. The girl scanned her aunt’s neat, open handwriting. “Let us see… a carry-all bag, which is a black messenger’s bag…”

“Ah! Here ‘tis!” Ms. Kimberlyn said, plucking the bag from a handel and handing it to Angeline. The girl nodded her thanks, slinging the bag over her head to rest on her shoulder.

“Next is… ah. A mirror with silver roses on the back,” she said, picking up said mirror and placing it in her bag. “Then a… sneakoscope?”

“Right here, hun,” Ms. Kimberlyn said, bringing it over. Angeline nodded, also placing it in the bag.

“Then a necklace set with a black stone…” the girl wandered, examining the shelves until she found the necklace. This she put on, slipping it under her collar. “And last is a pocket watch.”

“Really?” Ms. Kimberlyn asked. Angeline frowned, confused by the woman’s surprise.

“Yes, a silver pocket watch with gold vines and pink roses,” she said, walking down the shelves until reaching the end. The pocket watch, a true work of art, rested in a black-velvet lined box. Angeline removed it reverently, attaching the chain to a button and placing the watch in her pocket. She then turned to Ms. Kimberlyn. “What else do we require?”

“Galleons,” the woman said, waving a hand at the piles. “Just grab some of them.”

“Alright,” Angeline said, and did as instructed. After sliding the coins in her bag for a few moments, she paused, looking down at it with a frown.

“It’s an enchanted bag, hun,” Ms. Kimberlyn said. “It will hold anything you want it to.”

“I see,” Angeline said, straightening her bag. She looked up at Ms. Kimberlyn. “Shall we be off, then?”

“Certainly,” Ms. Kimberlyn said, and they turned to the door.

The first stop on their shopping adventure was Eelyops Owl Emporium. Angeline sniffed as they entered, frowning at the mess of the shop as Ms. Kimberlyn approached the seller. The girl walked around the narrow space, squinting in the dim light. Then she stopped as something caught her eye. Turning her head slowly, she took in the pitiful sight before her.

It was a barn owl, perched on one foot. He sat proudly on top of a cage, despite his disheveled feathers and the scar down the left side of his face. He was large, and rather ugly for his kind. Rather than the typical brown feathers of his fellows, his wings and head were dusted with gray, his beak and the rim of his face closer to black. He was large for his kind, and his functional icy blue eye watched the girl before him. Angeline approached him slowly, tilting her head.

“Well, you are a right mess, are you not?” she said. The owl twisted its head horizontally and cooed softly. It seemed almost to agree with her. “I meant no offense, of course. You are still a noble creature, all things considered.”

“Whoo,” the owl said, tilting it’s head to the other side. Angeline rolled her eyes.

“I am quite sincere, sir. I wonder, though, can you still fly with your wings in that state?” she asked, taking a step back and offering her arm. The owl gave an indignant whoot, then dove from the cage, taking a sweep around the room before gracefully landing on Angeline’s forearm. The girl smiled, running her fingers gently through the stiff peregrines. “My, you are magnificent, sir.”

“His name be Brutus,” Angeline flinched as wizened old man walked up to her. “He was once owned by a grea’ wizard, who fell in battle many eves ago. I’ve never seen ‘im take a shine ta any’un before, ‘specially not a woman. Some said ‘ed never take to another wizard agin.”

“Well, it might help that I am not a wizard,” Angeline said, giving Brutus a rueful gaze. He blinked at her with his good eye, and seemed to croon mischievously.

“Well, aye, ye be a witch o’ course,” the man said. Angeline snorted, letting Brutus move to her shoulder as she crossed her arms.

“No, I am not,” she said. The man eyed her strangely. “I-“

“Angeline, we’ll be going now,” Ms. Kimberlyn said, steering the girl away. The agent nodded to the man, herding Angeline back to the street. Once outside, she sighed, and Angeline turned to face her.

“What was that?” the girl asked, looking rather miffed.

“Listen, love, not everyone is going to be happy about… well, about you being a muggle and all, so we want to try and keep this as quiet as we can, for your own good. Understand?” Ms. Kimberlyn said. Angeline rolled her eyes.

“I see. Even in the magical world there is bias,” she said. Ms. Kimberlyn rolled her eyes as well.

“You act too old for thirteen,” she said, beginning to lead.

“Hold on, what about Brutus?” Angeline asked. Ms. Kimberlyn smiled gently back at the girl.

“He’s yours, hun,” the agent said. Angeline looked at the owl out of the corner of her eye. He puffed up next to her, and she giggled as she followed Ms. Kimberlyn.

“Do not worry,” Angeline said to the owl. “I do not believe in owning animals.”

“Churp,” Brutus said approvingly.

The rest of the day was spent finding various supplies Angeline required; books, materials and other odds and ends. In the afternoon, Ms. Kimberlyn stopped at an ice cream parlor, insisting on buying Angeline ice cream as well. They girl took it with a brave face, although she protested that it made her seem like a child. After which, Ms. Kimberlyn received a message, asking that she speak with one of her overseers right away. Asking Angeline to remain put, the agent had gone off with the messenger to do as asked.

Angeline had had every intention of staying right where she was. Brutus, however, had other ideas.

The owl moved from the girl’s shoulder to her arm after she had finished her ice cream, then gently bunched her sleeve in his foot and began flapping up, pulling her.

“What on earth are you doing?” Angeline asked, rather distressed as she was pulled along. There were some in the crowd that stopped to laugh at her, and Angeline felt her face color. “Stop this, Brutus! I demand that you stop!”

“Whoo!” Brutus said, a tad indignantly as he continued to pull the girl along.

“Stop! Brutus! I said-“ at that moment, Brutus gave an extra tug and let go of Angeline’s sleeve, causing the girl to fall to the ground. She huffed, blowing an errant strand of hair from her face as she picked herself up. Brutus, looking satisfied with himself, was perched on a sign post. Angeline glared at him, then looked up at the shop she had fallen in front of.

The sign read ‘Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ in bold print. Angeline gave the shop a once over, taking in the colorful display windows, then looked up at Brutus. The owl seemed to shuffle his wing in a manner indication the girl should enter. Angeline snorted.

“Fine, but no more of this foolery out of you,” she said, ignoring the owl’s self satisfied coo as she hesitantly pushed open the door.


	5. In Which Angeline Meets the Weasleys

The inside of the shop was even more colorful than the display windows. Angeline shut the door quietly as she leaned forward, peering around the motley shelves and messy displays.

Straightening with a sigh, she proceeded forward with her head high. She turned her head this way and that, taking in the somewhat foolishly named merchandise and wondering exactly how much of it actually worked. She saw ears with long, fleshy strings attached, dual colored pills and what appeared to be small bombs, among other oddities.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!”

Angeline jumped, head snapping forward. The man standing before her, tall and redheaded, had caught her unawares, appearing from thin air. With a flourish of his long, heavily embroidered robe, he made a sweeping gesture around the room.

“We hope you find everything you desire, from vomiting pills to firework thrills, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is sure to kill… with laughter!”

“I… see,” Angeline said, staring at the man’s broad grin in bewilderment. As few people as she had met thus far, the girl had never come across someone so… vibrant.

“Please look around, don’t be shy, most of the merchandise doesn’t bite!” the man said, throwing a playful arm around Angeline’s shoulder. “I’m George Weasley, by the way, owner and entrepreneur extraordinaire.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Angeline said, a tad uncertain of the man’s proximity. “Angeline Oscar Portur… student.”

“Ah, off to Hogwarts, is it? I went there meself, back in the day, ‘fore me and Fred started this place,” George said. He was very animated, gesturing as he spoke. “Any idea what house you think you’ll be in? Me and my brothers, we were all in Gryffindor, my sister too.”

“Pardon me, what do you mean by house?” Angeline asked, scooting out from under George’s arm. He didn’t seem offended.

“A muggle-born, eh? Ah, well, nothing wrong with that, a wizard’s a wizard, Mum always says, bless her heart,” he said.

“What is a muggle-born?” Angeline asked, softly brushing down her clothes. George blinked at her, but continued smiling.

“Well, you know, a witch or wizard with Muggle parents. You are one, aren’t you?” he asked. Angeline crossed her arms.

“No, I am not. I am not a witch, either,” she said. George scratched his head.

“Are you a… squib, then?” he asked, carefully. Angeline rolled her eyes.

“No, I am not a squib,” she said. George frowned, thoroughly stumped.

“Well, you can’t be a muggle… can you?” he asked.

“I believe that is the term,” Angeline said, squeezing the bridge of her nose. The conversation was giving her a headache.

“A muggle… going to Hogwarts… that’s bloody brilliant!” George said, grinning again. Angeline let her hand drop, blinking in surprise. ”By Merlin’s beard, tell me how it happened.”

“Er… well, I’ve been led to believe it has something to do with my brother,” Angeline said. Then she held up her hand. “And this ring, sir.”

“Oh, I hope I didn’t come across as a sir, I try not to,” George said, eyes gleaming as he examined Angeline’s ring. “And what about your brother? Is he a wizard?”

“No he’s a… a dragon,” Angeline said, slowly lowering her hand. She fiddled with her ring as George whooped.

“Bloody hell, that’s fantastic! My brother Charlie studies dragons. I bet he’d give his left arm to have one as a brother!” he said taking Angeline’s hands in his own. “Bein’ a muggle and all, you’ll want some friends when you get to Hogwarts. Lots of nasty purebloods there, good thing you’ll never get into Slytherin.” Then the man turned, looking over his shoulder. “Fred! Get your hairy arse in here!”

“Who are you calling?” Angeline asked, reclaiming her hands.

“My son, Fred. He’ll be starting his first year at Hogwarts, too,” George said, grinning as a young man entered, as redheaded as his father.

“What do you want, Da? I was in the middle of something important,” Fred said, patting his hands together to get rid of some dust. Angeline flinched as George once again slung an arm around her shoulders.

“I want you to come meet Angie here, she’ll be a first year, too,” he said. Breaking into a grin, Fred stepped forward.

“Nice to meet ya, Angie,” Fred said, holding out a hand. “I’m Fred, Fred Weasley.”

“It is Angeline,” the girl said, shaking the boy’s hand as she took a step forward. “Angeline Oscar Portur, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Blimey, you remind me of Aunt Hermione,” Fred said. Dropping Angeline’s hand, he looked at his father. “Doesn’t she remind you of Aunt Hermione, Da?”

“Maybe in her younger days,” George said, winking.

“What brought you here, then?” Fred asked. “If you’re anything like Aunt Hermione, you wouldn’t be the pranking type.”

“My owl brought me,” Angeline said. When Fred laughed, the girl’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, it is true.”

“You should always listen to your owl,” George said, eyes twinkling. “Oft times animals have much more sense than people, I think.”

“I am inclined to agree with you,” Angeline said, crossing her arms. “Especially in the case of wizards. No offence meant, of course.”

“None taken,” George said. “I’ve never met a good wizard with a lick of sense, me self. You almost have to be a nut to be a wizard. I mean, look at Dumbledore. Man was absolutely batty.”

“Who?” Angeline asked. Fred gasped.

“You don’t know about Dumbledore?” he said. “He was the greatest wizard ever! And the last Headmaster at Hogwarts, ‘fore he got offed.”

Angeline opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened at that moment.

“Angeline! Here you are!” Ms. Kimberlyn said, smiling in relief as the door closed behind her.

“Zavanna! I haven’t seen you in ages!” George said, twirling the woman around. Ms. Kimberlyn laughed.

“’Ello, George I see business is doing well,” she said, smiling. “How’s the family?”

“Oh, we’re all well. Fred here is starting his first year at Hogwarts,” George said, throwing his arm around his son.

“Oh, smashing! I take it you’ve met Angeline, then,” Ms. Kimberlyn said, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Yeah and I wanted to talk to you about that…” George said, drawing Ms. Kimberlyn to the side.

“So, what house do you think you’ll be in?” Fred asked, though Angeline looked over where George and Ms. Kimberlyn were talking. “I’m a shoe in for Gryffindor, me whole family was in it.”

“What are these Houses?” Angeline asked, looking at Fred at last.

“Blimey, you don’t know? Everyone at Hogwarts gets sorted into a House; Gryffindor is the best, though anything is better than Slytherin. Me Da says all the bad wizards were in Slytherin once.”

“Hmph, preposterous,” Angeline said, crossing her arms. “As if something like that can determine who you are.”

“Wha- it’s true! All the bad ones come from Slytherin! It’s a fact!” Fred said. Angeline snorted.

“How can something you can’t even decide for yourself determine anything about your future?” she asked. Fred gaped.

“But… but… it’s Slytherin!” he said, throwing his hands up for emphasis.

“So is that it? You are either good or bad, Gryffindor or Slytherin?” Angeline asked. Fred sighed.

“Well, no; there’s Ravenclaw for the nerds, and Hufflepuff for everyone else,” he said.

“So, you are either evil, a nerd, a… a hero, or nothing? Is that what you mean to say?” Angeline asked, counting off on her fingers.

“Well, I mean, no, but-“ Fred appeared about to pull his hair out as he spoke. Angeline placed her hands on her hips.

“Then what do you mean, exactly?” she asked. Fred took a deep breath, rubbing his brow.

“Alright, alright. You’re sorted by your… by your… your personality or something. Your traits. Gryffindors are brave, Ravenclaws are smart, Hufflepuffs are…” Fred squeezed his eyes shut, thinking. “Loyal. Hufflepuffs are loyal. And Slytherins are… cunning, I think.”

“So… they put you with people with whom you share similar qualities?” Angeline asked.

“Exactly,” Fred said. Angeline frowned.

“But how? How do they determine something so abstract as cunning or bravery? Is there a test? And what if one is cunning and brave?” she asked. Fred groaned, dreading the questions his answers could provoke.

“It’s the Sorting Hat that sorts it all out,” George said, making both tweens jump. “Has its own kind of magic, you see. Bits an’ pieces of all the founders, all mixed together to figure out who goes where. You seem pretty set for Ravenclaw, if you ask me.”

“And we really must finish your shopping now, hun,” Ms. Kimberlyn said leading Angeline away before the girl could ask more questions. “It was nice seeing you, George.”

“Ms. Kimberlyn, what house were you in?” Angeline asked as the door shut behind them. The woman laughed.

“Gryffindor, love,” she said, eyes shining. “I know George because we were in the same year. Until he and his brother dropped out, that is. Always troublemakers, Fred and George Weasley.”

“So where is his brother now?” Angeline asked, hardly noticing as Brutus lighted on her shoulder. Ms. Kimberlyn sighed.

“He fell in battle against the Dark Lord” she said, smiling grimly. “Brave man, true Gryffindor. Wish I had been there.”

Angeline nodded slowly thinking as she followed after Ms. Kimberlyn. She looked over her shoulder at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes one last time before joining the rest of the crowd in Diagon Alley.

Angeline found she had a lot to consider by the end of the day.


	6. In Which Angeline Arrives at Hogwarts and the Sorting Hat Throws a Fit

Angeline spent a month at the Greyhearts’ home. She took the time to study, frequently asking Corbin and Ms. Kimberlyn for explanations or clarifications. She wrote to her Aunt and brother, letters expertly delivered by Brutus.

Angeline also frequented Diagon Alley, specifically Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. George was also happy to accommodate her, though Fred dreaded her visits. From them and George’s daughter, Roxanne, Angeline learned more practical wizard culture. The girl also discovered a healthy interest in Quiddicth.

Having lived such an isolated life, Angeline had never once played a sport, nor been a spectator. As such, her first exposure to the greatest sport in the wizarding world was… enlightening, to say the least. The Weasleys were quite taken by her enthusiasm, and Fred found it was the only part of talking with Angeline he looked forward to.

As the month drew to a close, Angeline found she was actually a bit disappointed that her days in London were ending for now. Though she did wonder, as she packed her bags the night before she needed to catch the train, what Hogwarts would be like. She had heard so many stories, some so fantastic they couldn’t possibly be true, that she felt… nervous. Angeline had never been to a proper school, and the thought of falling short with others around her made her stomach do little queasy flips.

Of course, she didn’t tell anyone about that.

***

“I do not see Platform Nine and Three Quarters,” Angeline said.

“You aren’t suppose to see it,” Corbin said with an exasperated sigh. “Just follow me.”

Frowning, Angeline did as told. She snorted when Jas, Corbin’s great horned owl, gave a loud hoot. Corbin ignored it, picking his way through the crowd to the space between platforms nine and ten. He turned to look at Angeline.

“Now, just do what I do, alright?” he said. Angeline gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes in return. Then he turned and ran into the brick post.

Angeline blinked. Looking around she walked up to the post and pressed her hand against it. It certainly felt solid enough. The girl licked her lips and stepped back. She took her carte, Brutus cooing encouragement from his cage, and lined herself up. And she stood, a few feet from the post.

She wanted to move. ‘Come on, Angeline, it’s just another trick,’ she told herself. ‘Come on, you saw Corbin run through. It must need a certain amount of force to enter, or-‘

“In we go!”

Angeline gave an undignified squeak as George Weasley suddenly appeared behind her and pushed her toward the post at a run. Angeline squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the crash… but at George’s laugh, she opened them.

“Welcome to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Angeline,” George said, patting the girl’s back. Angeline just stared about her, amazed by not only the number of people present, but also the Hogwarts Express.

Angeline had never seen a train before.

“Th-thank you Mr. Weasley!” Angeline said as she came back to herself, twisting to see George waiting as Roxanne and Fred came through behind her. George nodded in response, then turned to speak with his wife.

Watching the other students, Angeline stowed her luggage (with help from Fred) and boarded the train. They had just settled themselves when the door to their compartment opened to reveal a short, slightly plump blonde boy with a red face.

“Er… can I… uh…” he said. At that point, a streak of red nearly tripped the boy and leapt into Angeline’s lap.

“Why hello there,” she said looking to the boy before scratching behind one of the animal’s ears. It was a small cat like creature with very large ears and chocolate speckled red fur. It purred, and Fred gestured for the boy to sit down.

“He… here, Cristi,” the boy said, and the animal lithely jumped from Angeline’s lap to the boy’s.

“What is she?” Angeline asked the boy, noticing the lion like tail. The boy cleared his throat.

“She’s a kn-kneazle,” he said. He glanced quickly at Angeline, and she noted he had one blue and one gray eye. “Had to get special permission to bring her, but she gets testy when I’m not around.”

Before she could ask the boy for his name, the door was opened again. The boy was older; tall and platinum blonde, he took a look at Fred and bit his lip. After a moment, Fred sighed.

“Malfoy, I know no one likes you, but just get in or keep moving,” he said, glaring. Angeline quirked a brow, but said nothing as the boy snorted and sat next to her. He shut the door behind him.

The train ride was much longer and more quiet than Angeline had anticipated.

When she stepped off the train, still adapting to her robes, Angeline took a deep breath of the chill air. She smiled slightly.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

Angeline looked and blinked in amazement. She had heard about Hagrid from the Weasleys, but she hadn’t grasped how truly large the man was. She thought he looked half feral himself, with his unkempt hair and beard, but this actually made her feel more at ease rather than less. She strode briskly into the growing crowd of first years, finding a place next to Fred.

“That’s Hagrid,” Fred said, and Angeline rolled her eyes, frowning.

“Clearly,” she said. Well used to this by now, the young Weasley was unperturbed by the girl’s biting tone.

“Firs’ years, follow me,” Hagrid said. Angeline looked around at her peers as they followed, trying to take their measure by observation.

When they were told to board the plethora of boats, Angeline and Fred were quick to get in one.

“Do they expect us to row?” Angeline asked, glaring at the oarless boats. Fred snorted, moving over as the boy with the kneazle joined them.

“Of course not, just wait,” Fred said, grinning in anticipation. They were joined by a fourth student, and soon enough Angeline had her answer as the boats moved forward of their own volition.

Angeline crossed her arms, frowning. She discovered the movement of the boat made her feel a tad nauseous, and hoped the school wasn’t far.

And, as the school came into view, the girl couldn’t help but gape.

“Preposterous…” she breathed, staring up at the sprawling castle and grounds, letting her eyes roam to the surrounding forest. As such, when a dark blot rose into the sky, she rolled her eyes when Rochester whizzed overhead, causing more than one cry of alarum.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Angie!” he yelled, doing a flip to change direction.

“Show off!” Angeline called after him, recrossing her arms. Rochester laughed, winging his way back to the forest.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” Fred asked. Angeline snorted.

“That,” she said, “was my brother. Idiot.”

 

The rest of the trip to the castle was uneventful, and the first years found themselves led to a hall outside two huge doors, waiting to enter the Great Hall and be sorted. There were many students whom had gone ashen with nerves. Angeline, however, was simply glad to be on dry land.

Professor Longbottom, who had led them to the hall they were in, appeared, smiling.

“Alright, before we go in I need to speak with an… an Angeline Portur?” he asked.

“Right here, Professor!” Fred said, raising his hand.

“Oh, thank you, Fred,” Professor Longbottom said. Fred beamed at Angeline.

“Professor Longbottom is a family friend,” he said, though his eyes spoke of mischief. Angeline nodded smally as Professor Longbottom stepped next to her.

“Miss Portur, Headmistress McGonagall wanted me to tell you that due to you being a mug- I mean, due to your special circumstances, that you won’t be taking part in the Sorting Ceremony. Is that, uh… alright?” he said, looking a bit sheepish. Angeline’s face held no expression as she inclined her head.

“I understand, Professor,” she said. Longbottom nodded, then returned to the front of the line.

“Looks like you’ll be a Puff, Angeline,” Fred said, but then they were moving forward and the girl could not answer.

Angeline looked around the Hall with slightly widened eyes. It was spectacular, with the four long tables and the ceiling bewitched to appear as if it ended in sky, candles floating through thin air. So distracted by the room, the girl was startled back to herself when the Sorting Hat, a patched, dusty old wizard’s cap, began its song.

She didn’t quite catch the words, but she joined the rest of the Hall applauded. When that died down, Professor Longbottom began reading off names.

“Ambedor, Sheila,” he called. A rather sallow, mousy haired girl walked up, sitting on the stool. The hat fell halfway down her face.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the Hat shouted, and the table where the students wore hints of yellow sent up a cheer. Angeline watched as others were sorted, not remembering most of the names called.

“Greer, Dougal,” Professor Longbottom called. It was the boy with the kneazle. When the Sorting Hat was put on his head there was silence as it thought.

“SLYTHERIN!” it shouted, and Dougal looked ready to faint in relief as he walked over on wobbly knees. As Angeline’s eyes trailed him, she spied the fourth compartment companion, Malfoy. He sat at the Slytherin table, but he seemed… alone.

“Weasley, Fred,” Longbottom called, and Angeline returned her attention to the front. The Hat had no trouble this time.

“GRYFFINDOR!” it shouted, causing more cheering. Angeline clapped for her friend, though she remained expressionless. Fred was the last student to be sorted, and the staff appeared ready to move on as Headmistress McGonagall stood.

“That will conclude the Ceremony-“

“Hold on now, there’s still one student left,” the Sorting Hat said, causing a pause in the murmuring which had begun. McGonagall blinked and Longbottom gulped.

“Er, well, there are special circumstances-“ Professor Longbottom began.

“I’m not interested in your bloody circumstances, it’s my job to sort all the students,” the Sorting Hat said. He was staring straight at Angeline, and she quirked a brow, crossing her arms.

“Well, mister, er, Hat, we can’t really-“ Longbottom tried again. That was when the Hat started shouting.

“I DON’T CARE IF SHE’S A MUGGLE, SORTING IS MY JOB!” it said, causing dead silence and horrified looks from both staff and students. Very suddenly, all eyes were on Angeline. The girl rolled her eyes and snorted.

“Oh, honestly,” she said, striding up and jumping on to the stool, pulling the Hat on herself. She heard a quiet voice in her ear, coming from the dark folds of the Hat.

“Now there’s a sensible girl,” it said. “And you are quite sensible especially for your age. I see you are very mature, very bright and logical… but with a dreamer’s heart, how interesting. You dream of a quiet life, how rare and admirable. Well, as you are very reasonable, I’m going to explain this to you. The quiet life you desire is no longer possible. While you do not seek fame you will have it simply by your nature. So I’m putting you in the house that will best prepare you for the future you face that will give you the courage you’ll need against those who oppose you. You’re going to change the world, young Grayheart, and don’t argue the point. So it better be, GRYFFINDOR!”

What applause there might have been was weak and died quickly as Angeline joined the Gryffindor table, sitting next to Fred. The girl was oblivious to the general chill in the room as Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat.

“That will conclude the Sorting Ceremony,” she said, her mouth a thin line as she glared at the Hat. Fred sighed and looked at Angeline.

“Well, that could have gone better,” he whispered.


	7. In Which Angeline Finds Rochester to be No Help at All

At the conclusion of the feast, which had gone surprisingly well once everyone had gotten over their initial shock, Angeline was sought out by Hagrid.

“Headmistress McGonagall sent me fer ya,” he said, drawing her from the rest of the first years in the hall. “Said ya migh’ be hankerin’ ta see that brother of yers, the great lummox.”

“I do hope he has not been too much trouble,” Angeline said, jogging to keep up with the large man. Hagrid shook his shaggy head, laughing.

“Trouble? Oh aye, but not any o’ the trouble we was expectin’,” the grounds keeper said, opening a door to the cool night air.

“What were you expecting?” Angeline asked, brows furrowing in confusion. Lighting a lantern he’d pulled from his voluminous overcoat, Hagrid began leading the way down to the forest.

“Missing limbs, property damage and the like,” he said. Angeline snorted, but didn’t get a chance to reply as they came across Headmistress McGonagall, accompanied by a silver haired man.

“Good evening Hagrid, Miss Portur,” the Headmistress said. She turned to the man next to her. “Miss Portur, this is Professor Silvermane, he has just joined our staff as a teacher of Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Professor Silvermane said, extending a hand with a smile. Angeline shook.

“And you as well,” she said.

“Professor Silverman has just arrived this evening,” McGonagall said. “I thought it prudent that he should make yours and your brother’s acquaintance.”

“Though I’m still unsure as to why,” Professor Silvermane said with a slight frown as they continued into the Forbidden Forest.

“While I understand you are eager to settle in, Professor,” the Headmistress said, “I assure you, you want to meet Rochester Greyheart.”

“Greyheart?” Professor Silvermane asked.

“My aunt raised me, Professor,” Angeline said. “I thought it only fitting to give my brother her name when the time came.”

“Why would you have to… by Merlin’s beard,” Silvermane gaped as his eyes fell on Rochester. The dragon didn’t seem to notice, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he waltzed up to his sister. Angeline placed her hands on his brow, just between his eyes.

“Hello, brother,” she said. “Now, what mischief have you caused in my absence?”

 

“What? Didn’t you miss me?” Rochester asked, laughing. Angeline rolled her eyes, taking a step back and crossing her arms.

“Missing you is only natural,” she said. “I see no need to say it.”

“Oh, Angie, you say the sweetest things,” Rochester said.

“She really can speak with ‘im,” Hagrid said, softly enough that Angeline didn’t hear.

“Are you mocking me? And it’s Angeline,” the girl said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sister dear,” Rochester said. Angeline frowned.

“You are mocking me,” she said. Her brother gave a growling laugh, bumping his head against the girl’s shoulder.

“Only because I love you,” he said. “I missed you, Angeline.”

Angeline stood still a moment before sighing, wrapping her arms around her brother’s neck with a smile.

“I missed you too, Rochester.”

“Professor Silvermane,” Headmistress McGonagall said with a sweep of her arm. Rochester saw this, and pulled away to sit back on his haunches.

“May I present Mr. Rochester Greyheart?”

***

Angeline was granted access to the Forbidden Forest to visit with Rochester in her free time. The girl did this as often as she could, often bringing her books with her.

“I suppose Potions is alright,” she said one day, flipping a page. “It is one of the classes I can actually participate in. I do not much care for the Professor, however. He found out I am related to the Greyhearts and ever since has gone on and on about various relations of mine that are apparently famous.”

“And that is Professor…?” Rochester prompted.

“Slughorn; Horace Slughorn, Head of Slytherin,” Angeline said. Rochester nodded.

“Ah, yes, I believe you described him as bald and fat,” the dragon said. Angeline did not look up from her book.

“But you don’t deny it,” Rochester said. “You are forgetting I speak Angelese. Come on, tell me about that other one, Basket or something.”

“Binns, Professor Binns,” Angeline said, shutting her book at last.

“That’s the one,” Rochester said. “You said he was a ghost?”

“Allegedly,” Angeline said. Rochester rolled his eyes.

“Your ridiculous skepticism aside,” he said, shifting his weight. “Describe him.”

“Well, he teaches History,” Angeline said with a sigh.

“Poor bloke never had a chance,” Rochester said. Angeline crossed her arms, glaring. It was a well known fact between the siblings that Angeline practically abhorred muggle history. Rochester could only imagine her thoughts on wizarding history.

“While not the most gifted orator, he is well versed in his subject,” Angeline said.

“Ah, so he is boring,” Rochester said, drawing a sigh from his sister.

“I dearly hope you are never prevailed upon to be diplomatic, brother,” Angeline said.

“Sister, I believe there are many reasons I shall never find myself in such a situation, my rapier wit among the least,” Rochester said.

“Rapier wit? What vanity,” Angeline said, grabbing another book. Rochester snorted with his version of a smile, then rested his head next to his sister. He regarded her with one purple eye.

“Have you made any friends? Besides Fred, that is,” he asked. Angeline flipped through her book.

“I do not need to make friends, Rochester,” she said. “I need to focus on my school work, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts. The class is mostly practice, which means I end up with twice the theoretical work to make up for it.”

“And who teaches that class?” Rochester asked. Angeline started getting her books as she checked the time.

“Professor Gorby,” she said.


	8. In Which Angeline is Burned

Michaelis Gorby was a squat man. In fact, he appeared as if he had been compressed from his original height to a short, stocky man. He moved in swift, stiff motions, much like a soldier. His features were suitably hawkish, and his voice a gruff rumble. He would patrol the aisles between the desks as students worked, hazel eyes hard.

Due to an unusually high number of students, Gryffindor shared both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Under normal circumstances, this would be a less than ideal situation. With a muggle thrown in the mix, it was disastrous. Especially when assigned seating placed Angeline in the middle of a group of Slytherins.

There was one boy in particular, Hwan Yong, who seemed to make tormenting Angeline his personal crusade. There were various small ways he accomplished this: spilling ink over her essays, using spells to cause parts of her desk to fall apart, and once setting part of her robes on fire. Gorby seemed either to not notice, or not care. Fred was convinced of the latter, while Angeline was inclined to the former. The young Weasley would rave about how the Professor was a bloody purist, but Angeline simply could not see how a teacher could possibly condone such behavior.

But the girl’s pride refused to let her say anything. She rewrote her essays, and dealt with her desk as well as she was able. She was certain that eventually Hwan and his friends would grow tired of their games and leave her alone.

She was wrong.

“Portur,” Professor Gorby barked. Angeline gave him a level stare. She was the only student that did so.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked.

“Can you tell me what a Patronus is?” he asked.

“It’s a high level spell which conjures an animal that embodies good thoughts,” she said. “It is usually used against Dementors and Lethifolds.”

“Good,” Gorby said. He walked over, and slowly leaned on Angeline’s desk. “Can you demonstrate for us?”

“No, Professor,” Angeline said. Gorby sniffed.

“She couldn’t even if she had magic…” Fred muttered, a few other Gryffindors nodding. Professor Gorby snapped around.

“What was that, Weasley?” he asked, rounding on the red head. Fred gulped, keeping his eyes on his desk.

“I said,” and he cleared his voice when his voice squeaked, “That she couldn’t do a Patronus charm even if she had magic. It’s too advanced for this class.”

“10 points from Gryffindor,” Gorby said. “Anything else you want to say?”

“It’s not fair, sir!” another Gryffindor, a girl with wavy blonde hair, said as she stood up.

“Hey, muggle,” Angeline glance sidelong at Hwan. The blonde Gyrffindor slowly sank back into her seat as Gorby strode to her desk. “Here’s a present for you.”

“Tergeo!” someone, a Slytherin that sat behind Angeline yelled as a small vial of some potion splashed against her arm. Most of the concoction flew off, but not all of it. The drops missed exploded.

The class panicked, everyone jumping to their feet and running away, except for Fred, the blonde girl and the Slytherin boy. Angeline’s entire sleeve was on fire, and she flailed her arm, tears in her eyes from the pain. The Professor was trying to get the class to calm down, to no avail. Thinking quickly, the blonde Gryffindor girl managed to yank off Angeline’s robe, tossing it to the ground and stomping out the flames with her black boots. Fred managed to calm Angeline down with help from the Slytherin boy, but her arm was badly burnt.

“I-I’ll get the nurse!” the boy, whom Angeline somehow recognized as Dougal Greer, said before dashing out the door. The blonde girl came to Angeline’s side, and Fred turned on Gorby, whom had managed to create order within the class.

“You bloody git!” he yelled. “You’re cracked! She could have bloody died!”

“And?” Gorby said. Fred gaped, shocked. “She doesn’t belong here, boy. She’s just a muggle. If she wants to play witch, she can damn well deal with the consequences.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” the blonde girl said, leading Angeline away. She spat at Gorby’s feet as she passed by, and Hwan took a step forward.

“And don’t come back, muggle bitch,” he said.

“Say that again you-“ Fred jumped forward, but Angeline reached out to weakly grab his wrist.

“Fred, don’t,” she said, voice hoarse. Hwan smirked, but Fred forced himself to walk on.

“I’m telling McGonagall,” he said. “You got this?”

“Yeah, go on,” the blonde girl said. Fred turned, heading for the Headmistress’ office.

“What is your name?” Angeline asked as she and the blonde girl continued down the hall.

“Veronika, Veronika Voski,” the girl said. “But everyone calls me VV.”

“Thank you, Veronika,” Angeline said. It was then that they ran into the nurse, Dougal in tow, and Angeline was rushed to the infirmary. She was given a sleeping draught, the nurse remarking that she was amazed the girl was still awake at all.

When Angeline came to a few hours later, Fred, Veronika and Dougal were sitting around her bed. The Gryffindors were on one side, eyeing the shy Slytherin warily. Angeline cleared her throat, and all eyes went to her. She looked at the chubby blonde on one side of the bed.

“It is Dougal, correct?” she asked. The boy nodded, blushing.

“Y-yes,” he replied. At that point the boy’s kneazle, Cristi, jumped onto the bed, curling up in Angeline’s lap. The girl scratched behind her ear without thinking.

“Thank you, Dougal,” she said. She looked at her wrapped up arm. “I suspect this would be worse if you had not intervened.”

“W-well, I w-wouldn’t have been able t-to if it weren’t for y-you,” Dougal said. Angeline quirked a brow.

“What do you mean?” she asked. Dougal blinked at her.

“W-well, I guess you d-don’t remember, but during potions you were t-telling those two guys h-how t-to say ‘tergeo’, and that’s why I knew it,” he said, blushing. Angeline blinked.

“Oh,” she said. She felt she could vaguely recall something similar to that situation, but during her first week she had tried to be helpful more than once. This, however, was the first time she heard of someone besides Fred actually taking her advice.

“How the bloody hell did you end up in Slytherin?” Fred asked. Dougal was saved from answering as Headmistress McGonagall strode down the aisle.

“Miss Portur, how are you feeling?” McGonagall asked.

“Well, Headmistress,” the girl said. McGonagall nodded. Then she sighed.

“I regret to inform you that, despite my better judgment, I cannot expel Mr. Yong,” she said. Fred and Veronika jumped to their feet.

“Because I am a muggle, correct?” Angeline asked. McGonagall’s mouth was a thin line.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Your attendance here is in a very delicate balance, Miss Portur, and I cannot afford to upset those who are in high standing in the magical community. I assure you that I have done what I can; 50 points from Slytherin, and Mr. Yong has detention for a week. I can do no more than that.”

“I understand,” Angeline said. Fred muttered darkly, sitting down again and Veronika followed suit.

“However, given Professor Gorby’s disposition, I will not be returning you to Defense Against the Dark Arts class,” the Headmistress said. “I refuse to leave my students in danger. Instead, you will be joining the Arithmancy class that takes place at the same time.”

“But isn’t Arithmancy for second years?” Veronika asked.

“Indeed it is, Miss Voski,” McGonagall said. “I am making an exception. I take the safety of my students very seriously. Now, Madame Pomfrey says that you will be able to return to class tomorrow, granted you have plenty of rest. Wrap up this visit, you three, and you can see each other tomorrow.”

“Fred,” Angeline said as the headmistress walked away. “Can you go and tell Rochester what has happened? I would appreciate it greatly.”

“Erm, sure, of course,” Fred said.

“Who’s Rochester?” Veronika asked.

“My brother,” Angeline said.

“The dragon in the Forbidden Forest,” Fred amended.

“Wait, that’s for real? Awesome sauce,” Veronika said.

“It’s time for you to go, children,” Madame Pomfrey said, striding briskly up to them. She handed Angeline a cup. “Drink this, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angeline said, taking the draught without a thought. She made a face as it left a sour taste in her mouth, and the nurse took the cup while shooing the other students out of the room. Cristi remained on Angeline’s lap, however, enjoying the warmth as the girl drifted into the black of sleep.


	9. In Which Angeline Discovers Arithmancy and Runes

As it turned out, Angeline was well enough to go to classes the following day. And, while most of her classes simply required a day’s worth of catching up, there were two in which changes were made.

First was Potions class. Formerly, Angeline had been partnered with Fred, mostly as no one else would sit with her. But when she walked into the room, Fred had sat with another Gryffindor, his partner while she was away. He gave her an apologetic look, and opened his mouth to say something, but Angeline waved her hand dismissively. She had spotted one other student that had no partner.

“Hello, Dougal,” Angeline said as she plopped into the seat next to him. The boy jumped.

“H-hello, Angeline,” he said, blushing. “W-what are you doing?”

“Sitting, clearly,” she said, pulling her potions book from her bag and placing it on the desk.

“B-but I mean, w-why are you sitting w-with me?” he asked, scratching the back of his head. Angeline turned to blink at him.

“Would you rather I left?” she asked.

“N-no!” Dougal said, blushing deeper. “I’m h-happy you would w-want to sit with me, but-“

“Then why should I not sit here?” Angeline asked. “You are the only person I see without a partner, besides myself. It only seems to make sense.”

“Oh… ok,” Dougal said, his entire face scarlet as Angeline turned to front.

“Welcome back, Angeline!” Professor Slughorn said, grinning widely as he walked over.

“Thank you, Professor. What did I miss?” Angeline said coolly. Slughorn waved his hand.

“Oh, don’t worry about a thing! We’ll just count it in your good record,” he said, winking as if it were their little secret. It really didn’t help her standing with the class that she was part of the selection of students Slughorn favored, but Angeline never took advantage of the special treatment.

“Today we will be working on identifying different ingredients,” Professor Slughorn said, returning to the front. “I have packets of ingredients in each of the boxes on my desk, if everyone will come up to get one, then write down which one is which to turn in by the end of class.”

“I’ll g-get them,” Dougal said, leaving Angeline sitting in surprise. She’d never had someone volunteer to help her before.

“Thank you,” she said when he returned, and Dougal smiled. Then they both set to work, and Angeline was finished in a matter of moments. She glanced over at the blond and blinked.

Dougal was staring at all the items, face red as he concentrated. He hadn’t written a single item down. He had a star shaped flower in his hand; white with a red line down each petal. Angeline looked around before leaning a bit closer to him.

“That’s asphodel,” she said. Dougal jumped, so concentrated on his task he hadn’t noticed her. He smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you,” he said, writing it down.

“It’s used in the Draught of the Living Dead,” Angeline continued. She proceeded to name each of the ingredients and their uses for the young Slytherin. So, when they both turned in their work, they both received flawless scores.

“It w-was nice w-working with you,” Dougal said as class let out. Angeline nodded.

“And you as well,” she said, then turned in the opposite direction from the blond boy. For, while he was headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts, she was headed to her first day of Arithmancy.

“Professor Vector?” Angeline asked as she walked into the tidy classroom. There were already some second years inside, chatting. They were all Ravenclaws.

“Yes?”

Angeline walked up to the woman in the front of the room. She was writing complex mathematical equations and diagrams on the chalk board, and the chalk continued drawing as the professor turned to face the girl. She was tall, with black hair in a loose bun, a gray streak at her temple. Her evergreen eyes took the measure of the girl before her with a detached air, almost clinical in their physical analysis.

“You’re Angeline Portur,” she said. A definitive statement Angeline felt no need to acknowledge due to its certainty. Professor Vector returned to the board, looking down at the book in her hand. “Stand there until class begins. Then we will find you a seat.”

“Yes, Professor,” Angeline said. The girl stood, watching as more Ravenclaws entered the room. Eventually they all took their seats, giving Angeline poorly hidden stares as they whispered amongst themselves. When Professor Vector turned to look at them, however, they fell silent.

“Miss Portur, sit by Mr. Oswin,” she said. A boy with wavy black hair held up his hand, and Angeline took the empty seat to his left. “Now, I expect no funny business. You’ve heard the rumors for why Miss Portur is joining our class. One step out of line, and I will make sure you regret it. Now open your books to today’s lesson.”

“It’s page forty seven,” Oswin said when Professor Vector turned around.

“Thank you, but I do not have a book yet,” Angeline replied. Oswin frowned, then sighed.

“Well, I guess we can share until you get one,” he said, scooting his seat a bit closer to hers.

“Thank you,” Angeline said. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oswin said. “I doubt you’ll understand any of this.”

Angeline sniffed. She did not mention that she had, while being tutored, done more complicated math than number charts (even number charts as impressive as these), nor that numbers were one of her best subjects.

She let him find that much out on his own the following day by getting better marks on the homework assigned. Professor Vector called her an arithmetic prodigy. Angeline called it dumb luck.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t revel in the dumbstruck look on James Oswin’s face the next day.

***

“Miss Portur!”

Angeline paused in her walk across the grounds to the Forbidden Forest. She had finally caught up with her classes, and this was the first time she was seeing Rochester after the incident. Turning, she saw Professor Silvermane approaching her.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked. Silvermane was slightly out of breath as he caught up to her.

“Are you going to visit your brother, Miss Portur?” he asked.

“I am,” Angeline said. The professor nodded.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked. Angeline sniffed. No one had come with her to visit Rochester before.

“Of course, Professor,” she said, turning to continue her brisk stride.

“So, how long have you known your brother?” Silvermane asked.

“Since I was seven,” Angeline said, watching her footing through the undergrowth of the forest.

“And how old are you now?” the professor asked.

“Thirteen,” the girl said. Silvermane did the math in his head.

“Wow, that’s a good amount of time,” he said. Angeline made an affirmative noise. “And how old was he when you met?”

“He hadn’t hatched yet,” Angeline said.

“Oh, I see,” Silvermane said. Then he sighed. “Oh well, can’t be helped, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?” Angeline asked, frowning.

“Hm? Oh, only that it means Rochester won’t be like a wild dragon,” Silvermane said. “I have something of a fascination with his kind, you see, but since you’ve raised him since birth, he’ll be more domesticated.”

“Hm,” Angeline said, but her frown stayed in place.

“Hello, Angie,” Rochester said as the pair came across him.

“Hello, brother,” Angeline said, sitting in her usual place. It was in the curve between a large root and the tree it was attached to.

“Are you alright?” Rochester asked, leaning his head a few inches from his sister’s face. Angeline waved her hand dismissively.

“Perfectly fine,” she said. “I’ve been moved from Defense Against the Dark Arts to Arithmancy.”

“I know,” Rochester said, rolling his eyes. “I was not worried about that. I was worried about you! Why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied?”

“It was hardly worth mentioning,” Angeline said. Rochester growled and slammed his hand to the ground, causing it to shake. Silvermane tripped over his feet as he jumped back. The girl blinked passively.

“That little shit tried to kill you!” the dragon roared. Angeline gasped.

“Rochester! I will not tolerate that kind of language! Where in the heavens did you learn such a foul word?” she asked, crossing her arms. Rochester groaned.

“You are unbelievable. Truly, unbelievable,” he said, turning away from her. Angeline frowned, jumping to her feet.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked. Rochester turned his head to look at her again.

“You are more worried about my parlance than your own life,” he said. “Angeline… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you trust me,” Angeline said, eyes boring into her brother’s. The dragon stared back, then lowered his head, until they were eye level. He searched his sister’s eyes for a few moments. He sighed.

“Alright. I trust you. But tell me if this happens again,” he said. Angeline snorted and shook her head.

“It’s not going to stop happening, Rochester,” she said. “I can handel it. You do not need to be concerned.”

“Angeline… “ Rochester said. Then he snuggled his head against her. “I just cannot stand the thought of losing you, sister.”

“Brother, I will never be lost to you,” Angeline said, hugging him. “I promise.”

“Can you promise me one other thing?” Rochester asked. Angeline took a step back.

“Of course,” she said. Rochester’s eyes regained their familiar spark of mischief.

“You must introduce me to your friends!” he said. “Who was the blonde girl? I assume Fred was the ginger.”

“The blonde girl’s name is Veronika, and we have only just met,” Angeline said, rolling her eyes.

“Anyone else you have only just met?” Rochester asked, shifting his weight.

“Well,” Angeline said. “There is Dougal, I suppose. And quite possibly James Oswin, though I am not entirely certain of him.”

“Hm, tell me about them. All of them,” Rochester said. Angeline sighed, reclaiming her seat with a smile as she proceeded to describe each of her new acquaintances in articulate detail. The girl and dragon both seemed to forget Professor Silvermane’s presence entirely. The Professor watched uncomfortably from a distance for a few minutes before sighing and walking off, humming with a slight smile on his face. Looked like he would have to save his questions for another occasion…

When Angeline left the Forest for Arithmancy, she was in high spirits. She missed not being able to share her troubles with her brother and felt lighter now that she had.

“Uh, Angeline Portur?”

Angeline paused, turning to see a woman approaching her. She was in the courtyard now. The woman was too old to be a student, with black hair.

“Yes?” Angeline said, checking her watch.

“Sorry to bother you,” the woman said. She extended her hand. “I’m Professor Algea.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Angeline said, shaking as hesitantly as the Professor offered. Algea instantly spotted her ring.

“I’m sorry, would you mind if I… ?” she asked. Angeline nodded.

“What do you teach, Professor?” the girl asked as Algea examined her ring.

“Ancient Runes,” the woman said. She sighed, releasing Angeline’s hand. “But it seems there aren’t any on your ring.”

“There are some on this watch, I believe,” Angeline said, pulling out her pocket watch. Professor Algea’s eyes lit up as she seized the object. She opened it up, and on the inside cover there were, indeed, runes etched into the silver. “At first I thought they were just scratches-“

“Oh no, no, no,” the professor said. “These are beautiful! Truly, wonderfully preserved.”

“Can you read them?” Angeline asked. Algea smiled.

“Of course,” she said. She cleared her throat. “’When the fates seem against you aligned/In direst need these words cry/Through the times you have never been/ To the object of salvation wend/ When you hold it in your hand/ The time you crossed you shall respan/ Return to the very hour you departed/ And fix the need desired.’”

“Even approximately, that rhyme was a stretch,” Angeline said. Algea chuckled.

“It rhymes better in the original dialect,” she said. “The important thing is getting the meaning across. Looks like you have a very powerful artifact in your hands, Miss Portur.”

“Or so I keep hearing of my Aunt’s gifts,” Angeline said. Then sighed, looking at the time. “Excuse me, Professor Algea, I am afraid I am late to class.”

“Oh, drat, sorry,” the woman said. “Here, I’ll come with you, and explain what happened to Professor Gorby.”

“Professor Vector, actually,” Angeline said as they walked into the building. Algea frowned.

“Vector? But she teaches Arithmancy. Aren’t you a first year?” she asked. Angeline nodded.

“Yes, but there were circumstances which removed me from that class,” she said. Algea frowned, then gasped.

“You were the person hit with the exploding potion!” she said. Angeline sighed.

“Yes, I was,” she said. “And, if you do not mind Professor, I am not inclined to speaking of the matter.”

“Oh, yes, I understand completely,” Algea said, surprising Angeline. As the past few days had went, no one had dropped the matter as quickly as Professor Algea just had. “Here we are.”

“Sorry I am late, Professor,” Angeline said as she entered the room.

“It’s really my fault, Septima,” Algea said, causing Vector to blink at her fellow professor. The students looked stunned. “I wasn’t paying attention to the time and held Miss Portur up.”

“It’s alright, Anatheia,” Vector said. “Please take your seat, Miss Portur.”

“Yes, Professor,” Angeline said. Professor Algea stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The girl looked up at her.

“If you… if you need someone to talk to, please, come see me anytime,” the professor said.

“I will keep that in mind, Professor,” Angeline said, and nodded before walking to her seat. With a nod to Professor Vector, Algea departed. James stared at Angeline as if awestruck.

“How the… do you know who that was?” he asked in a strained whisper. Angeline quirked a brow at him.

“Professor Algea,” she said. “Why?”

“She’s the runes teacher! She’s an absolute terror!” James said. “How the bloody hell did you get her to be so nice to you?”

Angeline opened her mouth to reply, but it was then that Professor Vector called for silence to resume her lesson. Angeline was glad she had no trouble following the lesson, as she was preoccupied with thoughts about the mysterious runes teacher…


	10. In Which Angeline Introduces Rochester

“Are you free tomorrow after Potions?” 

Veronika looked up at Angeline. They were in the dormitories, and Angeline was fidgeting where she stood. The five other girls in the room stopped to look over at them. This was mostly due to the fact that Angeline had never once spoken while in the dormitories, and Veronika was usually too busy with her magic music box and writing in a journal, which for some reason she sent back home every evening when she was done with it. The blonde shifted the Pocky in her mouth to talk.

“Uh… yes. Why?”

“Well, my brother is insistent upon meeting my friends-“

“Oh my gosh!” 

Veronika leapt off her bed to half tackle Angeline, pulling her into a breathless hug. Then she let go, holding the girl at arm’s length and grinning. 

“W-what?” Angeline asked, blinking rapidly. 

“I can’t believe we’re friends!” Veronika said, and pulled Angeline over to sit on the bed. “This’ll be so much fun! I could… I could help you braid your hair! Or… or makeovers or something! Would you like to learn to play guitar? I can teach you! Well, acoustic, but I really like the sound of electric better, too bad muggle stuff doesn’t work here-“

“V-veronika, please,” Angeline said, quite flustered at this point.

“Is something wrong?” the blonde asked, pausing. Angeline cleared her throat.

“Well, it is simply… I… “ she tried. But Veronika was staring at her very intently, and the muggle girl slowly pursed her lips. Then she took a breath. “What was that about a guitar?”

“Here,” Veronika said, laying back to stretch behind herself, pulling an acoustic guitar covered in stickers from under her bed. “Listen to this.”

The blonde then launched into a complicated riff which really would have been much better on an electric guitar, but was still stunning on the acoustic one. When she finished, the other girls applauded, and Veronika grinned at them before proceeding to teach Angeline the finger positions and notes. They continued until it was time for bed, and while Angeline lay in bed, she found herself smiling. 

Maybe, she thought, just maybe Rochester had a point with this friendship thing.

The next morning, Angeline found James Oswin at the Ravenclaw table. She stood behind him and cleared her throat. He slowly, very slowly, turned to look at her. 

“Yes, Angeline?” he asked. 

“My brother insist upon meeting the people I associate with. I came to ask if you would be free before Arithmancy class to come and meet him,” Angeline asked. One of James’ friends elbowed him, and there were a few juvenile comments from those Ravenclaws that had not met Angeline. (Those that had knew better.)

“… Alright,” James said. Angeline then nodded and turned on her heels to walk to her seat between Fred and Veronika. 

“That Oswin?” Fred asked, peering around his friend to see the Ravenclaw boy. 

“Yes. Are you free after Potions class?” Angeline asked, grabbing some toast. 

“Yeah sure, why?” Fred asked, returning to shoveling food into his mouth. 

“Rochester wants to meet all of my friends,” Angeline said, and Fred chocked on his food. This caused Veroinka to laugh, and he glared at her before looking back at Angeline.

“But I’ve already met him. Can’t I just… you know… go off that?” he asked. Angeline frowned.

“I cannot very well introduce my friends to my brother if my best friend is not there, now can I?” she asked. Fred stared.

“I’m your best friend?” he asked. Angeline blinked.

“Am I mistaken?” she asked. Fred opened his mouth, then closed it. He repeated this several times before looking down at his plate.

“Bloody hell, you’re my best friend,” he said. Angeline rolled her eyes.

“Then I shall see you later,” she said, adding eggs to her plate.

“Yeah… yeah I guess so…” Fred said, and Veronika patted his shoulder, laughing as he let the fact of his friendship sink in. 

***

"Dougal, would you be free to come and meet my brother after class?” Angeline asked as she sat down in Potions. Dougal flinched in surprise. 

“S-sure, I would be h-happy to,” he said. Angleine nodded.

“Splendid,” she said, and did not mention for the remainder of class. 

When Potions let out, Dougal and Fred followed Angeline to the courtyard, where they met Veronika and James, the former of which bouncing on her heels with excitement and the latter tapping his foot impatiently. 

“Alright, we are all here then,” Angeline said. James quirked a brow.

“What about this brother of yours?” he asked. Veronika scoffed.

“You don’t know a thing about him, do you?” she asked, grinning. James scowled, following as Angeline decided to move the group forward.

“Well it’s not like I was handed his passport,” Oswin said. Veronika giggled. 

“Isn’t this the F-f-f-forbidden F-forest?” Dougal asked, paling as he realized their destination.

“Do not worry, I have permission to enter,” Angeline said. Dougal gulped and nodded, and James gaped.

“Are you batty? We could get killed in there!” he said, stopping near the edge of the forest. Veronika laughed, dancing around him before going into the forest.

“Don’t be such a wimp, birdie,” she said. James made a squawk of indignation before tramping after them.

“Birdie? Birdie? Is that a mocking reference to my being a Ravenclaw?” he asked. Veronika rolled her eyes.

“Oh no, certainly not,” she said, practically skipping along. 

“Why you… you… dear God…” James said, struck speechless as Rochester came into view. 

“Hello Angie, are these your friends?” the dragon asked, grinning as he lowered his head. Fred’s face went ashen, Veronika gulped, James continued to gawk and Dougal swooned. Angeline looked down at him, then back to her brother.

“Yes, yes they are,” she said. 

“Shouldn’t you help him?” Rochester said, leaning over Dougal. Angeline kneeled down next to the boy, gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Dougal, Dougal, wake up,” she said, and after a few moments this roused him. However, upon seeing the large dragon head looming over him, he promptly fell unconscious once more. 

“I think you’re freaking him out, Rocky,” Veronika said, making Angeline look over her shoulder and Rochester to turn his head. The dragon tilted his head, then moved to be eye level with the blonde. The normally exuberant Gryffindor was standing quite demurely, hands clasped behind her back. “If I can call you that.”

“No, that is silly,” Angeline muttered, working to revive Dougal once more. Rochester, on the other hand, bobbed his head in happy agreement, smiling. 

“You must be Veronika,” he said. 

“She is,” Angeline called, putting a hand on Dougal’s back to support him as he sat up. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Veronika said, grinning. Rochester pressed the end of his snout against her forehead in response, and the girl put her hands to either side of his face, laughing. Then Rochester pulled away, and slowly returned to Dougal and Angeline. 

“And this must be Dougal,” he said. Angeline nodded. She then looked at the young Slytherin.

“Dougal, this is my brother, Rochester,” she said. Dougal gulped and nodded, then held out his hand hesitantly. 

“P-p-p-p-p-p-pleased t-t-to m-m-meet you,” he said, barely managing to get the words out. Rochester gently pressed his snout to the boy’s hand. 

“And you as well,” the dragon said. 

“He says the same,” Angeline told the boy, and Dougal blushed and leaned a bit away from her. Rochester’s eyes flicked from the boy to his sister, and Angeline recognized the mischievous gleam they gained. However, the dragon said nothing, but turned to Fred. The dragon tilted his head.

“Well met once again, Mr. Weasley,” Rochester said. Fred looked at Angeline.

“He says well met,” she said. 

“Oh,” Fred said, nodding. He looked at Rochester. “You too?”

Rochester laughed, which sounded more like a growl to Angeline’s friends. But they seemed a bit more comfortable than they had before. At least, Dougal remained conscious. 

“Which means you must be James,” Rochester said, moving his head to be eye level with the Ravenclaw. James jumped back, falling on his behind. 

“James,” Angeline called, and the Ravenclaw looked over at the girl. “I would like you to meet my brother, Rochester.”

“Ah,” James said, looking back at Rochester. The dragon was thoroughly amused. “Forgive me if I seem terrified. It’s only because I am.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rochester said, leaning his head back. 

“He said it is fine,” Angeline said, and James nodded without taking his eyes off the dragon. 

“Uh… how did that… exactly…” Oswin asked. 

“What?” Angeline asked. Tearing his eyes from Rochester, he looked over at the girl.

“How are you two… siblings?” he asked. 

“I found Rochester when he was still in an egg,” Angeline replied. “I looked after him until he could mind himself. That is how.”

“Oh, I see,” James said, glancing nervously at Rochester as he got to his feet. “And, uh, how do you… talk?”

“I have been told it is the power of this ring,” Angeline said, standing and walking over to show it to the Ravenclaw. “But of course, something like that is preposterous.”

“Not at all,” James said, examining the ring. “There are plenty of magical artifacts that function in a similar manner, although it would take a very powerful one to let one talk to dragons.”

“Where’d you find it, anyway?” Veronika said, startling the pair. Angeline cleared her throat.

“I was going through the boxes in the attic when I found it in a jewelry box,” she said. Veronika whistled.

“So it was just luck of the draw, eh?” she asked. 

“Naturally,” Angeline said. 

“I don’t know. I’m starting to think there’s no such thing as luck around you,” Fred said. “Excusing the bad kind, of course.”

“I beg your pardon,” Angeline said, frowning. 

“You attract bad luck,” Rochester said, settling his head on his forepaws. His sister snorted.

“I know what he meant, but it could not possibly be true,” she said. 

“Let me guess, you don’t believe in luck,” Fred said with a sigh.

“Of course not,” Angeline said, placing her hands on her hips. 

“But you have to admit, it was lucky,” Veronika said. “I mean, if you hadn’t found that ring, you wouldn’t have found Rocky, and then you wouldn’t be here.”

“B-b-b-besides, it’s n-n-n-not really bad l-l-luck if s-someone hates you,” Dougal said. 

“What?” Angeline asked, brows furrowing. Dougal gulped. 

“H-H-Hwan. H-he h-h-h-hates you, b-but that’s not your f-f-fault,” he said. 

“He…” Angeline started, then shook her head. “He hates me?”

“You didn’t get that from him trying to blow you to bloody smithereens?” Fred asked, incredulous.

“I…” Angeline said. “I guess I did not consider it.”

“You… you didn’t consider it? You didn’t bloody consider it?” Fred asked, gesticulating wildly. “Generally it’s an understood fact that when someone tries to kill you it means they might not like you very much.”

“I just…” Angeline seemed lost. “I assumed there was some form of motivation behind the action…”

“Other than him hating you?” Fred asked. 

“Stop that!” Veronika said, suddenly throwing her arms around Angeline’s shoulders. “Will you stop bloody brow beating her about it? Honestly, and you call yourself her best friend.”

“I…” Fred started, utterly floored. 

“Come on, we’re going to be late for class,” Veronika huffed, pulling Angeline along by the wrist. The blonde smiled brightly and waved at Rochester. “It was lovely meeting you, Rocky!”

“And you as well,” the dragon said, looking rather amused. “Until tomorrow, sister.”

“Until tomorrow indeed,” Angeline said, more to herself than anyone else. 

As the girls, followed momentarily by a nervous Dougal, walked out of earshot, Fred turned to James.

“What the bloody hell just happened?” he asked. The Ravenclaw opened his mouth to respond, then changed his mind, shrugging instead.

“Women?” he said more than asked. Fred sighed and shook his head, and both boys turned to trudge after their companions. Rochester sighed, stretching out languorously. 

“Great, who wants to keep the dragon company? No one? It’s alright, magical creatures of superior intellect never get bored alone in the middle of the forest, I swear. No, don’t trouble yourself, you have classes to attend, I know, I know…”


	11. In Which Angeline Confronts Hwan Yong

Angeline and her friends had classes to attend, indeed. They were all busy studying, Angeline especially. She was almost constantly in the library to find the supplementary information she needed to complete her extensive essays and in depth reports on this subject or that. In fact, she was such a staple that she had quite by accident taken over a table near the back, a long mahogany affair in aching need of repair. However, the girl found something of home in the faded glory of the wobbly table, and soon even Madam Pince left the girl be in her space.

Fred would occasionally join Angeline, complaining in quiet mumbles about the state of the table as he read various potions books and tomes. He would also remark on her utilization of the entirety of the table, and it was certainly true; there would always be at least five reference books open at various points spread along the table, Angeline’s pages of notes spread among them, piles of more reference material stacked around this, and the girl’s actual essay in the middle of it all. It was James Oswin’s reaction when he stumbled upon the scene for the first time that truly highlighted the slightly ridiculous side of the situation.

“Good God, girl, are you writing an essay or building a fort against the other books?” he asked, walking around the table slowly. 

“Writing an essay, of course, do not be daft,” Angeline huffed, painstakingly skimming an older volume for a particular detail she had forgotten. 

“Could have fooled me,” James said, coming to peer over her shoulder. The girl sighed, marking her spot with her finger to look over at the older boy.

“Did you need something?” 

“Ah, yes,” Oswin said. “I was looking for Vizenda’s Trials; when it wasn’t on the shelf, Madam Pince sent me back here.”

“Right. Ah…” Angeline sighed, looking over at her many stacks of reference material. From behind his copy of Potions to Prevail for Every Ail, Fred rolled his eyes. The young Weasley sat crossed-legged upon a stool, as not to take up any of the room on the table. James held up a hand.

“I’ve got it,” he said, taking out his wand. He gave it a flick. “Accio Vizenda’s Trials!”

The book flew out from the bottom of one stack surrounded by two others, knocking all three to the ground with a resounding chorus of thuds. James caught the book, jumping back to avoid Angeline as she jumped to her feet. 

“Bother!” she said, running to the felled books. She began picking them up swiftly as she could, Fred and Oswin quickly coming to help. 

“You couldn’t have seen that one coming?” Fred accused. Oswin huffed a sigh. 

“How could I? Besides, I’m not the one monopolizing the books in the library,” he said. 

“I would have recalled where it was in a minute if you had only been more patient,” Angeline said. 

Before Oswin could reply, there was the sound of a woman noisily clearing her throat. The three students froze, then slowly peeked over the table. Madam Pince stood, glaring at them as she tapped her foot. The three slowly sank back down. 

***

“So, you spoke too loudly in the library, put… precious books at peril of being damaged, and disrupted other students with your racket,” Professor Longbottom said, clearly quoting what Madam Pince had told him. Besides him, Professor Flitwick shook his head sadly. 

“Mister Oswin, I can only say I am disappointed,” he said. The Ravenclaw, as well as the two Gryffindor’s, stood hanging their heads in front of the Heads of their respective Houses.

“Professor Flitwick and I have decided to take ten points from each of you, and three days detention,” Neville said. At which Fred’s head popped up near audibly. 

“But, Professor, that means we won’t be able to attend the Halloween Feast!”

“Yes, it does Mister Weasley, and given your family history, it might be for the best,” Professor Longbottom said, and Fred hung his head again. “Now, off with you lot.”

“Well,” Fred said as they walked away, “it could have been worse.”

Naturally, it was. 

***

For the night of the Halloween Feast, Professor Gorby was in charge of detention. It was also Hwan’s last day of detention for attempting to blow Angeline up. As such, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sent James and Fred to patrol the main corridor and make sure no one was sneaking off during the feast, while Hwan and Angeline were sent to patrol a long, dark corridor that was hardly ever used for the same purpose.

Being thus assigned, the unlikely pair walked down the hall on opposite sides, not saying a single word for the entirety of two hours. 

“Do you hate me?”

“What?” Hwan asked, stopping to stare at Angeline. She met his gaze evenly. 

“Do you hate me?” she asked. Hwan gawked at her, then sputtered.

“I tried to blow you up!” he yelled. Angeline sighed.

“Why does everyone come back to that?”

Hwan stared a bit longer, then shook his head and started walking again. Angeline jogged a bit to catch up. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. Hwan shook his head again. 

“I think I did,” he said.

“No, you didn’t,” Angeline said, easily keeping pace with the shorter Slytherin. 

“What do you want me to say?” Hwan asked, speeding up.

“The truth,” Angeline said, as if it were the only response that made any sense to her. Hwan stopped in his tracks, causing the girl to take a step or so past him before turning. 

“I tried to blow you up. Does that mean nothing to you?” he asked. Angeline blinked. 

“Do you hate me?” she asked. “I thought it was a simple question.”

“I… I…” Hwan started, then sighed. “No. No, I don’t hate you.”

“Alright then,” Angeline said, and turned to continue walking. Hwan sputtered, then caught up to her.

“That’s it?” he asked. 

“What else is there?” Angeline asked. Hwan opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked away, then shrugged. They walked down the hall a ways in silence. 

“We don’t have to like… be friends now, do we?” Hwan asked. Angeline looked over at him.

“Not if you do not want to be,” she said. Hwan immediately looked forward.

“Of course not,” he said. Angeline raised her brows, but said no more. Regardless, they continued their vigil side by side for the rest of the night. When they and the others met with Professor Gorby in his office at the appointed time, the man seemed disappointed. 

“Very well. Off to bed then, all of you,” Gorby said, waving them out of his office. As the four left, Hwan actually stopped Angeline with a hand on her wrist.

“Watch out for Gorby,” the young Slytherin said. “He does hate you.”

Without another word, Hwan left, headed to the Slytherin dorms. Fred looked after him in wonder, then looked at Angeline. 

“Now what did you do?” he asked. Angeline blinked at him. 

“I have not the faintest idea what you could mean,” she said with utter sincerity. Then she turned and headed off for the Gryffindor common. Fred and James stared after her. 

“Maybe he doesn’t hate her?” Oswin said. 

“You might be right about that,” Fred said. “Which I don’t understand, because she’s really hard to like.” 

James shrugged his agreement, and the two boys bid each other farewell, yawning as they made their own way to their beds.


	12. In Which Angeline Helps a Certain Blond Slytherin

After the detention incident, most of the bullying died down for Angeline. Which was just as well, as she needed more time to do her essays and study for her tests. As it happened, to make up the grades she missed for practical examinations, Angeline had twice if not thrice as many written tests as the average student. Her friends noted that it had begun to wear on the girl’s nerves, and tended to walk softly around her for fear of her ire. 

With the exception of Veronika, whom seemed convinced that anything could be cured with a guitar lesson, or possibly singing. 

“Come on, you know it’s fun,” the blonde Gryffindor said, bounding around her friend as they made their way into the Forbidden Forest. 

“It is not,” Angeline said, cheeks coloring slightly. “I refuse to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

“What’s this then?” Rochester asked as the girls approached. Veronika skipped right up to the dragon.

“I keep telling Angeline she should try singing to relieve some stress, but she says daft and should mind my own business,” the girl said. “Would you help me out, Rocky?”

“You are daft, and I am not stressed!” Angeline said, glaring at the ground as she sat on a rock. Rochester and Veronika rolled their eyes. 

“You are stressed, even I can tell,” the dragon said, moving to nuzzle his sister’s cheek gently. “And maybe you should try singing. Come on, no one’s here but me and VV.”

“I do not want to,” Angeline said. “I will sound terrible.”

“How do you know that if you won’t try!” Veronika said, plopping down next to her friend. Angeline said nothing. 

“Come on, just try it,” Rochester said. Angeline frowned. “You sing, or I will.”

“Fine, do not be a bother,” the girl snapped, jumping to her feet. Veronika giggled as Angeline walked off a few steps. The blonde Gryffindor and the dragon waited expectantly as the girl composed herself. Then she sighed. 

“You are going to laugh at me,” she said. 

“We won’t, promise,” Veronika said, Rochester nodding in agreement. Angeline faced the two of them, then sighed again. 

“Fine. If you laugh, I will stop,” she warned, and Veronika crossed her heart. Angeline bit her lip, then began. 

“Come little one let us go to the woods,  
Your eyes are shining and it will do you some good  
Stop making trouble there rascal or I’ll have your tail  
Come little one let us go to the woods.”

“Oh, how pretty! Did you come up with that yourself?” Veronika asked. Angeline turned crimson. 

“You are making fun of me,” she said. Veronika leap to her feet.

“I am not! It was really pretty!” she said.

“She used to sing it to me when I was being a nuisance,” Rochester said. Veronika didn’t hear, however, insisting that Angeline sing some more. With enough convincing, the girl sang until Fred and James joined them, bringing food with them. Dougal showed up a bit later, and the five took a lunch picnic that day. At one point, Rochester sat up.

“Is something wrong?” Angeline asked. The dragon glanced at her.

“Not wrong, per se. I will be back shortly,” he said, and ambled off into the forest quickly. 

“… should we be worried without him here?” Fred asked. Angeline shrugged. 

“I am not,” she said, taking a bite from a sandwich. 

“He can probably still hear us, you know,” Veronika said, setting the others at ease. 

Rochester, however, did not reappear, and the students needed to return to classes, or else risk being late. Angeline looked to where he had disappeared into the forest, until Fred tugged her arm.

“I’m sure he’ll understand, I mean, we do this a lot, you know,” he said, clearly anxious not to be late. Angeline sighed, then cupped her hands around her mouth. 

“Brother, we’re leaving. See you again tomorrow!” she yelled. Then she shook her head, following the others out of the forest. 

***

“Excuse me.”

Angeline looked up from writing one of her many essays. She was at her usual table in the library, just finishing up her homework. The person who had interrupted her was a sallow, mousy haired girl. She was soft spoken, wearing Hufflepuff colors. 

“Yes?” Angeline asked, having a hazy memory of the girl…. Sheila, that was it. Sheila Ambedor. 

“I was asked to give this to you,” the girl said, handing a note to Angeline. The older girl took it curiously.

“Thank you, Sheila,” she said. Sheila blushed for some unknown reason, and ran off. Angeline stared curiously after her, then shrugged and opened the note. It was written in neat script letters, but simply read:

  
_By the whomping willow.  
8pm tonight._   


Angeline stared at it for a few moments. Then she sighed lightly, tucking the note into her pocket and checking the time. It was a quarter past seven.

_Well,_ Angeline thought to herself, _if I finish this essay in time, then I will go to this mysterious meeting._

Though, honestly, she could not think of who could possibly have need of so much secrecy. 

Angeline arrived at the meeting place at five minutes past the hour. Fred had attempted to accompany her, however, Veronika had turned the young Gryffindor back, insisting that Angeline might have a secret admirer, and how awkward would it be for some other guy to be there if it was? To which Fred replied that it could also be a trick for some cruel prank, and that _someone_ ought to go with Angeline. The argument continued back and forth, until the older girl tired of it and slipped away on her own.

Now that she was there, however, wrapped in her warm clothes against the snow, she wondered if she shouldn’t have brought Fred along. For the company, if nothing else. Standing, alone, in the dark, uncertain as to whether or not she were in the right place was not exactly entertaining. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Angeline jumped and turned. A few paces off, wrapped up as much as she, though with perhaps more expensive robes, stood Scorpius Malfoy. 

“You’re Angeline, right?” he asked, not moving any closer. Angeline nodded once.

“Yes, and you are Scorpius Malfoy,” she said. There was no question in her voice. They stood in silence a few moments, then Scorpius half turned. 

“Would you, uh… take a walk with me?” he asked. Raising a brow, Angeline nodded. Scorpius fell into step as she came abreast of him. 

“I would think there would be more to this meeting than walking,” Angeline said. Scorpius chuckled sheepishly, glancing at her. 

“The dragon in the Forbidden Forest-”

“Rochester, Rochester Charlotte Grayheart, my brother,” Angeline said. Scorpius nodded slowly. 

“You… you can understand him, can’t you? I mean, speak with him, like anyone else?” the third year Slytherin asked. Angeline looked at him curiously. He sounded strangely… hopeful. 

“Yes, I can,” she said carefully. Scorpius nodded, more to himself than her, and they walked in silence for a time. 

“I know him; your brother,” Scorpius said at last. The older Slytherin stopped, and Angeline turned to face him. “We talk… well, I talk, I can’t really… you know.”

“I … see. I was not aware of this,” she said evenly. It was the first thing she could recall Rochester not telling her about. Scorpius scratched the back of his neck. 

“Well… well, I was just wondering if… if maybe you would… ah…”

“Yes?” Angeline asked. 

“Translate?” Scorpius asked quietly. Angeline looked at him, and blinked once slowly. 

“Tell me about him,” she said, walking again. It helped to shake off the cold. Confused, Scorpius jogged to catch up to her. 

“What? Who?” he asked. 

“My brother. Tell me about him,” she said. 

“Why-”

“Indulge me,” Angeline said, heading towards the castle. 

“Ah… he’s… what do you want to know?” he asked. 

“Anything,” she asked. 

“Well… he’s… well, he’s a dragon, but I’m sure you knew that.” Angeline rolled her eyes. “Right. Uh… sarcastic. He’s very sarcastic, and plays at being melodramatic, even though he really isn’t. He’s kind of a pain in the ass, really. But the good kind, the kind that makes you laugh. Well, he makes me laugh. And he’s… he’s a good friend. A really good friend.”

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, it doesn’t sound like you need a translator to me,” Angeline said. Scorpius’s head shot up. They had made it to the inner courtyard.

“What? But-” 

“Scorpius,” Angeline stopped. She smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “My brother, as you might assume, has very few friends that are his alone. In fact, I believe you are the only friend he has that he has not met through me. And, as he has not told me about you, I must assume he would like to have his own friend without my interference. Besides that, you do seem to understand him well enough on your own. I honestly do not think you require my assistance. All I ask is that you continue being friends with my brother, as clearly he likes being friends with you.”

Scorpius was at a loss for words. Finally, he laughed. 

“Miss. Portur, you have yourself a deal,” he said. Angeline snorted, her face returning to its typical impassive state.

“Angeline, please,” she said. Scorpius nodded, turning to go to his dorms. 

“Thank you, Angeline,” he said. Angeline nodded, and they parted. When Angeline returned to the Gryffindor common room, she was greeted by a pissed off Fred Weasley and an enthusiastic Veronika Voski.

“So? What happened?” Veronika asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Angeline looked between her two friends, and came to a decision.

“Nothing. They did not show,” the girl said, stepping past them while shedding her winter gear.

“You were gone an awful long time for nothing to have happened,” Fred pointed out. Angeline shrugged, heading up to the girl’s dorm.

“It was a nice night. I decided to go for a walk,” she said. Her friends watched after her a moment. Then Veronika punched Fred in the arm.

“See? It must have been a secret admirer, and now she’s too embarrassed to tell us!” she said. Fred rolled his eyes. 

“No, it must have been some nasty prank, and she won’t tell us because she doesn’t want us getting involved,” he said. 

And the argument resumed where it had left off when the two had realized Angeline had left.


	13. In Which the School is Onset by Dragon Pox

Soon after Angeline’s talk with Scorpius, there was a change in the Slytherin house. It started slow; most of them complaining of colds. Of course, when their skin turned green and pockmarked, there was a lot more worry. The worse case by far was the young Malfoy, whom was quarantined, along with the entirety of the Slytherin house. 

Unfortunately, it was too late.

The illness, correctly identified as dragon pox, spread through the school rapidly. In fact, there were so many cases that Headmistress McGonagall had to send to St. Mungo’s for extra help. It was soon after the much needed help arrived that Madame Pomfrey also fell ill.

There were very few who did not catch the disease. Namely, Headmistress McGonagall, Professors Flitwick, Longbottom and Binns, the Potter and Weasley children, Hagrid, Dougal and Angeline. As such, all final examinations were cancelled.

“But… Headmistress, you cannot just… cancel them,” Angeline said. The Headmistress sighed. The Great Hall was very empty with all the missing students. Currently, besides the four professors, there were eight Gryffindors and one Slytherin seated there. Upon hearing the Headmistress’s announcement, Angeline had stood, much to the dismay of her fellow Gryffindors.

“I am afraid, Miss Portur, that I already have,” McGonagall said, not mentioning the fact that Professor Binns had offered to administer all the exams to the remaining students. “Now please be seated.”

“It’s alright, Angeline,” Fred said, patting her shoulder as she sat. “There’s always next year to be a masochist.”

“But… I worked so hard…” she said, hanging her head. The other Gryffindors looked at each other. It was obvious they were trying not to laugh, and when one almost chuckled, Fred shot him a glare. 

“Oh, buck up, Angeline,” Roxane, Fred’s older sister, burst out, flipping her braided red hair over her shoulder. While both of George’s children were dark skinned, after their mother, Roxane had darker skin than her brother by far, contrasting sharply with her fiery red hair. “Who wants to take finals, anyways?”

“Exactly,” said the boy to her left. The young man reached his hand over the table. “I’m Albus, by the way.” He hesitated before adding, “Albus Potter. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Angeline Portur, and we have not,” she said, shaking his hand. As she released it, Albus stared at her. 

“That’s it?” he asked. Beside her, Fred hid a grin. Angeline’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Should there be something else?” she asked. Albus looked at the others, clearly in disbelief.

“And I’m James Potter, his older brother,” the boy on Roxane’s right said, standing to shake hands with Angeline as well. 

“Nice to meet you?” Angeline said, not sure why they were staring at her. 

“Have… have you never heard of Harry Potter?” Albus asked. Angeline blinked at him.

“No. Should I have?” she asked. Albus and James looked at each other. 

“Nope,” Albus said. “No, no, you’re… you’re good. Excellent, in fact.”

“Alright,” Angeline said, confused as to why everyone was suddenly grinning. There were more introductions passed around, all Fred’s cousins; Rose, Hugo and Victoire. Albus and Rose were third years, James and Roxanne fourth years, Hugo a fifth, and Victoire a seventh year. After the introductions had finished, Angeline looked over to the Slytherin table, where Dougal sat by himself. Fred noticed her glance, and sighed. 

“Hey, d’you mind if we call Dougal over?” Fred asked the others. “He may be a Slytherin, but he’s a right fine mate. Besides, he’s the only one there.”

“I don’t know, Fred,” Albus said. “Why don’t you ask the Headmistress?”

“What? Me?” Fred asked, then shook his head. “You can, if you want.”

“No way,” Albus said. “I’m not getting in trouble for it.”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” everyone flinched at McGonagall’s voice. “Due to the absence of most of your classmates, I am well able to hear your conversation, as is everyone else in the room. Now, given the circumstances, if Mr. Greer would care to join you few, he is welcome to do so.”

Dougal needed no second bidding. He walked around to sit on Angeline’s right, and introductions were made once again. While the older Gryffindors were wary at first, they soon relaxed, and a colorful, if subdued, conversation lasted the rest of the meal. 

It was a few days later that agents of the Ministry arrived. Surprisingly, they were rather well known to the unaffected students. 

“Uncle Charlie!” 

The muscular red head was soon set upon by all the Potter and Weasley broods, the woman with him tapping her foot in amusement.

“Oh, of course, I’m not interesting enough for that kind of greeting,” she said, brushing some brown hair over her shoulder. 

“Oh come on, Mum,” Hugo said. “We get to see you all the time; Uncle Charlie’s hardly ever home!” 

“Yeah, ‘Mione,” Albus added. He was repaid for his comment with a smack upside the head. 

“That’s still aunt to you, Albus,” she said. 

“What are you two doing here, anyways?” Fred asked. Angeline was standing to the side, watching the greetings take place. 

“Well, due to the dragon pox, we need to inoculate the dragon in question, to keep this from happening again,” Hermione said. 

“You have to what?” Albus asked. 

“Give him a shot in the arse,” Charlie said. The students winced. 

“He is in the Forbidden Forest. Good luck,” Angeline said, turning to go. 

“That’s it? You aren’t going to help?” Fred asked after her. “He is your brother, you know.”

“And he is about to have a very unpleasant experience,” Angeline replied. “ _I_ certainly do not want to be around when that happens.”

To which Fred actually laughed, and explained the situation to his aunt and uncle.


	14. In Which the School Year Comes to a Close

In time, Hogwarts recovered from its bout with dragon pox. The students finished out what was left of the year with ‘petty finals’ to make up for lost grades, though the fifth and seventh years were required to take O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, respectively. They were offered the option of taking the tests during the summer, though no one accepted the offer (much to the relief of the professors). And, finally, the students made their way to Hogsmead to board the train and return home.

Veronika was chatting about going to Japan with her mother that summer, and possibly touring with Versailles. She just couldn’t believe that Hizaki was a wizard! Angeline wasn’t sure who that was, or even half of her friend’s conversation, as the blonde kept switching between English and Japanese. Fred was on her other side, complaining about his family’s upcoming trip to the Quiddicth World Cup, as his uncles and father were going to get loudly drunk and argue over the credibility of the Cuddly Cannons while his aunts gossiped and took care of the children for fear of his grandmother. If that weren’t enough, he’d also be expected to be social. As if he didn’t see all his cousins on an almost daily basis anyway. Dougal and James were having a highly involved conversation about the aggressive nature of boomslangs (or lack thereof), and how Dougal couldn’t possibly have one as a pet. 

Without warning, Angeline stopped in her tracks. Her small group of friends continued on for a moment, then realized they were short a member. They all slowly turned to look back at their friend. She was looking into space, eyes wide in awed shock. 

“Angeline? What’s wrong?” Veronika asked. Angeline shook her head a little, then blinked several times. 

“What is it? You didn’t do anything weird, did you?” Fred asked. Veronika punched him. 

“I… it is real,” Angeline said, still slightly awed.

“What? What d’ya mean?” Fred asked. 

“Magic,” Angeline said, finally looking at her friends. “It is _real_.”

“Did… did you just figure that out now?” Fred asked, breaking into a grin. He wasn’t the only one. 

“Of course not, do not be daft,” Angeline said, walking back into their midst. It was too late, however, as the entire group burst into laughter. The girl sighed, but smiled in spite of herself. She looked back at the Forbidden Forest, and smiled a little wider. 

_Yes_ , she thought. _I will most definitely be coming back._

And with that thought, she followed her friends back to the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a very short chapter, i know, but it's really all that happens... but! on to year 2! :3 if you enjoyed, have any suggestions/requests/critique, please let me know! i love to hear what people think! so... yeah!


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